(0/6)

Yuki awoke to a dust-filled breeze.

(1/6)

She was lying inside a wooden shack. The rotting ceiling, mold-covered walls, and missing planks in the floor suggested the structure was on the verge of collapse. Both windows were shattered, granting the outside air full liberty to brazenly infiltrate the room. The floor was caked in dust, which presumably had been carried in on the wind.

That was the room where Yuki awoke. She sat up and looked down at herself, discovering she was dressed in a highly embarrassing getup: a cowgirl outfit. On her head sat a ten-gallon hat, the very symbol of the Wild West. The shirttails of her top were tied together, reducing the length of the garment enough to fully expose her stomach. Her denim bottoms had been trimmed as short as possible, and her boots had spurs jutting out the back. A handgun in a holster was attached to her belt.

Yuki pulled out the firearm—a revolver. She fiddled with the gun a bit, and the cylinder swung open to reveal six loaded cartridges, the maximum capacity. That seemed to constitute her entire supply of bullets, as no spare ammunition turned up even after she conducted a thorough search of her costume. Although she wanted to give the gun a test shot, her severely limited supply of ammo and reluctance to make unnecessary noise convinced her to hold off for the moment.

Yuki opened the dilapidated door and stepped outside.

A Wild West townscape came into view, one that complemented her outfit well. The surrounding buildings and the dirt at her feet were both brown. Even the sky appeared dull and drab. Since nobody else was in the vicinity, the only movement came from rolling tumbleweeds that one would see in a Western.

Yuki looked down at her hands. Cracking all ten fingers, she set off on foot.

(2/6)

Yuki Sorimachi was a death-game player. That meant she made a living from risking her life in dangerous games for prize money. She had only just learned about the existence of the games several days ago. In her first competition, Yuki had needed to complete a deadly obstacle course while dressed in school gym clothes. For her second, she had been tasked with kicking other players off a stage while wearing an idol outfit. Having cleared her first two games with flying colors, Yuki now found herself in the midst of her third go-round.

Apparently, the rules differed from game to game. In some competitions, like Yuki’s first, players were forced to overcome a precarious venue, while in other games, like her second, the participants were pitted against one another.

Evidently, her current game fell under the latter category.

Yuki fired a shot from her revolver.

A second later, blood spattered out from the girl standing in front of her. Thanks to the Preservation Treatment, a body modification procedure that all players underwent, the girl’s blood immediately transformed into a fluffy white material. For that reason, the blood neither dirtied Yuki’s body nor marred the scenery of the frontier town. After taking Yuki’s bullet to the center of her chest, the girl collapsed to the ground, never to rise to her feet again. She had breathed her last.

That girl was another player. Like Yuki, she was dressed as a cowgirl, but her costume had a different style. It gave off a neat, clean-cut appearance, and far less of her body was exposed than Yuki’s; it was likely meant to be a sheriff’s outfit.

The wind blew away several scraps of paper the girl had been holding. One of them flew in Yuki’s direction, and she managed to snatch it out of the air. It was a wanted poster with a large picture of Yuki’s face smack-dab in the center. The word Wanted was written above her photo, while the very bottom of the flyer featured the phrase DEAD OR ALIVE, along with a monetary reward.

That hinted at the setup of the game: a shoot-out between outlaws and sheriffs. Yuki and the other outlaws would clear the competition upon escaping the town alive, while the sheriffs would have to amass enough reward money by apprehending outlaws.

Yuki proceeded with the game. Through sharing information with other players and making inferences based on her own observations, she was able to ascertain more details about the game’s setup. There were around one hundred players in total, roughly split eighty to twenty between outlaws and sheriffs. Several locations around town had been designated as “Sheriff’s offices,” where the sheriffs could take the outlaws they captured. In accordance with the “dead or alive” rule, many outlaws were brought in as corpses, but it seemed those captured alive would also be executed at the end of the game. Both teams had been supplied with identical revolvers, but unlike the outlaws, who only had six bullets each at their disposal, sheriffs could restock on ammunition at the offices. Additionally, the reward for capturing a specified outlaw was not fixed but continuously updated as time went on, fluctuating based on factors such as an outlaw’s kill count and their distance from the town’s exit. In other words, the more formidable the player, the sweeter the reward for killing them. For better or for worse, the bounty on Yuki’s head continued to rise, which saw her entering more and more shootouts with sheriffs.

Since Yuki had never once set foot off Honshu, the main island of Japan, much less her home country, she had no experience wielding a gun. Yet just like in her first two games, she somehow managed to excel. Shooting down sheriffs one after another, she came closer and closer to the town’s exit.

Suddenly, Yuki stopped in her tracks—or to be more precise, she was forced to stop in her tracks.

She carefully took in the scene before her eyes. In the distance was an arched sign bearing the name of the game, HORMONE TOWN. Miles and miles of wasteland stretched beyond the arch, presumably indicating the edge of the settlement. All that separated Yuki from the exit was a row of dilapidated buildings. Not a soul was in sight—at least, not that her eyes could see.

However, Yuki could perceive numerous signs of life scattered around the area. A large contingent of sheriffs was hiding in the shadows of the buildings, lying in ambush near the exit.

“…What a pain.”

Yuki adjusted her ten-gallon hat and slipped into one of the buildings.

(3/6)

Just as Yuki had anticipated, a sheriff was standing by inside. Without a moment’s hesitation, Yuki aimed her gun, killed the other player, and stole her bullets before moving on to the next building. She shot down the sheriff there, too, along with the sheriff in the following building—rinse and repeat.

Of course, the sheriffs attempted to fire back, but not one of their bullets found their mark. Somehow, Yuki could sense the exact moment they pulled the trigger, thereby allowing her to dodge out of the way. Guess I have a knack for these games, she thought, the same conclusion she had reached in her first two competitions. Soon, without sustaining a single wound, Yuki arrived at the final building.

Upon opening the back door, she came face-to-face with the final sheriff: a slender player with wavy white hair.

Just as she had done with her other opponents, Yuki aimed her revolver at the white-haired woman.

In each of Yuki’s previous encounters, her opponents had all reacted in one of two ways. First, there were those who attempted to draw their weapon, only for Yuki to shoot them in the head. Second, there were those who would take desperate, evasive maneuvers. That led to another branching path, where the sheriff either succeeded or failed in dodging Yuki’s bullet. But even if they ducked out of the way, it only took Yuki another one or two pulls of the trigger to send them to their graves.

In this instance, however, the white-haired sheriff went down a third route: drawing and firing her gun faster than Yuki.

“……!”

Yuki scrambled to evade, slipping behind the door she had opened not a moment ago. Then she shut the door and began moving along the building’s outer wall. Reentering from the back door would be unwise beyond measure. Yuki figured she would have to circle around to the main entrance or a window before going on the attack.

Alas, that strategy was a disastrous miscalculation—since the bullet from earlier penetrated the wooden wall and hit Yuki in the leg.

She fell forward, falling chest-first into the dirt. Ironically, since the impact made it difficult for her to breathe, she avoided uttering a scream. Yuki turned in the direction of the rear door, and it swung open that very moment. The white-haired sheriff stepped out and took in the pathetic sight of Yuki collapsed on the ground.

“How stupid can you be?” the sheriff mocked. “There’s no way this shabby old wall could ever stop a bullet.”

She was absolutely right. Yuki had naively thought that any kind of obstacle would shield her from bullets. That was how it worked in video games, after all. This was a painful lesson in how the mechanics of death games differed greatly from those of other “games.”

Yuki aimed her gun at the white-haired player. This time, she was faster. The firing pin of her revolver struck against a cartridge, sending a bullet flying straight at the sheriff’s face—

—but the woman dodged it by tilting her head to the side.

“Don’t aim for the skull,” the sheriff said. “It only takes the tiniest of movements to dodge a shot like that. You’d only ever hit the weakest of the weak.”

Yuki’s eyes widened in surprise. The player standing before her also had the skill to evade bullets. Who in the world was this woman?

Unfortunately, she was afforded no time to ponder the question. The sheriff unleashed a barrage of bullets. Every single one of them hit Yuki. One shot to her uninjured leg. Two shots to her torso. One shot each to her left hand and left shoulder. Yuki’s firearm flew out of her left hand and landed a great distance away. Since the white-haired player had followed her own advice by not aiming for Yuki’s head, none of Yuki’s wounds were fatal, but she was rendered powerless to resist.

The white-haired player approached the immobilized Yuki. The woman had already fired six bullets, including her first shot, which meant her six-chamber revolver was out of ammo. As a sheriff, she was almost certainly carrying spare ammunition, but she made no effort to reload her weapon. Instead, she pulled out a second gun from her holster. Yuki naturally expected a bullet to come her way, but the sheriff held the revolver by its barrel. It was a scene Yuki had previously seen play out in a film—the woman’s posture was that of someone about to beat another person silly with the grip of their gun.

The white-haired player stepped on Yuki. Her gaze was so cold that it was hard to believe she was about to initiate a violent beatdown.

“Who the hell are you?” Yuki asked in a half groan.

The sheriff gave a terse answer as she swung down her gun.

“Hakushi.”

Everything faded to black.

(4/6)

Yuki woke up from being violently shaken.

She quickly realized she was riding in the back of a horse-drawn wagon. Beneath her were wooden planks, while above her was an arched canopy. At the front of the vehicle sat a driver who was holding the reins of two horses. Since Yuki’s vocabulary could be put to shame by a dictionary for grade schoolers, she could come up with only one term that fit the bill: horse-drawn wagon.

Yuki was not the only passenger on board. There were around a dozen others who, judging by their outfits, all appeared to be sheriffs. Among them was the white-haired player Yuki had faced off with earlier.

“Ah—”

At the exact same moment Yuki opened her mouth, the woman glanced over.

“Finally awake?” the white-haired player asked.

“…Where are we?”

“In a wagon, obviously.”

Yuki turned to the rear of the wagon. Off in the distance, the arch with the words HORMONE TOWN—the name of the town where players had fought up until a short while ago—was slowly disappearing into the horizon.

She had escaped the town. The game was over, and Yuki had survived.

—Despite having been captured by a sheriff.

“How?” Yuki asked.

“Consider yourself lucky. You lived,” replied the white-haired player—Hakushi, if memory served. “You took out all the sheriffs who didn’t have enough reward money in that murderous rampage of yours. After that, there was no more need for killing.”

Yuki noticed all the other players—sheriffs—were staring at her. Although they had only been at odds with one another because of the game, Yuki was their former enemy, and as such, their gazes contained little warmth.

“You weren’t gonna kill me?” Yuki asked.

“Like I said, there was no more need for death. Or would you rather I had shot you in the head?”

Yuki offered no answer. Instead, her lack of a reply spoke volumes about her inner emotions. A feeling of frustration bloomed in her chest, like that of a bungee jumper who had missed the right moment to take the plunge. Whether or not the woman was aware of Yuki’s frame of mind, Hakushi asked her a question.

“What’s your name?”

“Huh?”

“What, didn’t you hear me? Tell me your name.”

“…Yuki Sorimachi.”

“Your player name?”

“Yuki.”

“Your first instinct being to give your real name tells me you’re a rookie. How many games have you played?”

“This was my third. What’s it to you?”

“Is anyone mentoring you right now?”

Yuki was unable to answer immediately, as her brain needed some time to process the meaning of the word mentoring that had come from out of nowhere.

“What? ‘Mentoring’?” Yuki parroted back.

“Right, well… It’s a common practice in this industry.”

“Seriously? In death games?”

“It’s common because these are death games. It’s far too difficult to survive in this world learning the ins and outs yourself.” Hakushi shot another glance at Yuki. “So? Are you being mentored by anyone?”

“Why would I be?”

“That tracks. In that case, I’ll take you under my wing as my protégée.”

The wagon started buzzing with commotion. Hakushi’s declaration must have been incredibly shocking, as all the other sheriffs shared looks of bewilderment. However, Yuki was confident she was the most bewildered of them all.

“It’s what you need,” Hakushi continued. “You have a knack for these games, but you won’t get far on raw talent alone. You need to acquire more knowledge and skills.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” Yuki snapped back, while still in a state of shock. “What are you, my mom?”

“That attitude will lead you to an early grave.”

“Forget it. I don’t want what you’re selling. Mind your own business.”

“Are you really going to say that after you were on death’s doorstep just a little while ago? You’d be dead by now if you weren’t lucky.”

“Who cares? I wouldn’t be here if I wanted a long life.”

Hakushi paused for a moment, taking the time to carefully choose her words. Yuki had a hunch as to what would come out of the woman’s mouth next. People like Hakushi would always say the same kind of thing in these situations.

“A long time ago, I didn’t care when I died, either,” Hakushi said, exactly as Yuki had anticipated.

Although she had expected the words, she felt warmth fill her head.

“What’re you getting at?” Yuki asked.

“I don’t feel that way anymore. And someday, you may go through a similar change of heart. That’s why you should learn the techniques you’ll need to live a long life.”

“Oh, so you’re reaching out ’cause you see your past self in me.” Words started racing out of Yuki’s mouth. “Let me give you a lesson in manners. If you’re gonna chat with someone, treat her like she’s her own person. It’s rude to talk to her like you’re looking at the ghost of your past self. It’s sickening.”

Hakushi shut her mouth. This time, it seemed she was not carefully selecting her words but rather simply keeping quiet.

“Point taken,” she finally said. “Then, I’ll leave it to you. If you want to be my protégée—if you wish to level up as a player—if you ever hope to have a change of heart…”

Hakushi cut off a piece of her ten-gallon hat, scribbled something down, and passed the note to Yuki.

“Anytime is fine. Come to that address.”

(5/6)

In the end, Yuki accepted Hakushi’s invitation to become her protégée.

Not even Yuki could explain why she had made that decision. Maybe Hakushi’s words had been particularly persuasive. Maybe Yuki had simply done so on a whim. Maybe she’d wanted to see Hakushi again to give her a big slap across the face. Or maybe, deep down, she’d been truly afraid of death. Whatever the reason, meeting Hakushi greatly altered the course of Yuki’s fate. She would end up walking the path of a death-game player and even go so far as to inherit her mentor’s goal of achieving ninety-nine consecutive victories.

A long time had passed since then.

Now Yuki was the one in the role of a mentor.

(6/6)

(0/28)

It was evening.

Yuki awoke inside her familiar run-down apartment.

(1/28)

The rays of the setting sun filtered through the windows and cast a red glow over the room.

It was a tiny studio apartment. The only objects inside that could be considered furniture were the mattress Yuki was sleeping on, a refrigerator, and a desk. Although she had tidied things up, the flooring and walls showed considerable signs of wear, so there was no hiding her home’s dingy appearance. It was the same old run-down apartment that made her incredulously question how she had been living in such conditions every time she woke up.

Except—one thing was different from usual.

Yuki looked beside her. On the same mattress slept a girl who was slightly younger than Yuki. Ordinarily, the girl radiated the bewitching charm of a femme fatale, but her magnetism was turned off as she slumbered. Her trademark style was to wear her hair in two buns at the back of her head, but naturally, she had untied them for bed.

The girl’s name was Tamamo.

Although Yuki was loath to acknowledge it, she was her protégée.

(2/28)

Until recently, Yuki had been saddled with numerous problems. The catastrophic game, where the majority of participants had been massacred by a single player. Her diagnosis with progressive vision loss in her right eye. The prying gaze of a classmate who followed her everywhere at school. Yuki hadn’t faced so many severe challenges at once since the Wall of Thirty, and she’d been left with no choice but to scurry around all over to address them.

Yuki had managed to satisfactorily resolve her first problem and had also come across a way to deal with the second. It was just as she was thinking about turning her attention to handling the third, her stalker, when a fourth problem had suddenly popped up from out of nowhere.

One night, upon returning home from school, Yuki noticed a girl standing outside her apartment. The girl was beautiful. She was someone who would be better described with adjectives like stunning and gorgeous, as opposed to cute or pretty. Her beauty was so overwhelming that it would trigger wariness in anyone who saw her. She had an aura like that of a femme fatale who would ensnare a king and drive his nation’s economy into ruin, or a shape-shifting creature who would lure men into her territory before devouring them headfirst, or a young celebrity whose showbiz commitments frequently kept her out of school and made her the center of attention in class.

The girl’s unique aura immediately gave away that she was a player. However, Yuki had no memory of her. While she didn’t remember all the faces of players she had come in contact with, she didn’t believe she would forget a girl with such a breathtaking good looks. And so Yuki stood frozen in front of her apartment, clueless as to the girl’s identity.

The girl was the first to break the standstill. She shuffled up to Yuki on slender legs and offered a greeting with a melodious voice that complemented her appearance.

“Good evening.”

The girl bowed, giving Yuki a glimpse at the double buns on the back of her head.

“…Hello,” Yuki responded with a nod.

The girl looked up and grabbed Yuki’s hand. “Finally, I found you! This means we can move on to lesson two, right?”

“Huh?”

The girl stared straight into Yuki’s eyes. As Yuki stared back, she formed a theory.

“You’re kidding, right…? Um… Just so we’re on the same page…”

“Yes?”

“Are you that player from Halloween Night…? Tamamo?”

The girl’s wide smile told Yuki the answer.

Tamamo. That was the name of a player Yuki had run into during her forty-fifth game, Halloween Night. Back then, the girl had been pudgy, lacking the kind of beauty that would turn heads. If not for the girl’s space buns and the words lesson two, Yuki would never have realized she was that very player.

Yuki hadn’t spent much time with Tamamo during the game; she had only rescued the girl from being attacked by other players. That was the extent of their relationship. However, perhaps Tamamo found that act of heroism exceptionally dazzling, as she then requested Yuki to take her on as a protégée.

At the time, there had been plenty of worries on Yuki’s mind, and she’d lacked the leeway to mentor a protégée. Naturally, she refused, but Tamamo continued to hound her. Left with no choice, Yuki superficially agreed to take Tamamo under her wing and commenced with lesson one: a long training run. Tamamo would complete the lesson if she managed to run around enough to slim down and catch Yuki. That excuse provided Yuki with the convenient out she needed to escape.

And yet here Tamamo was, standing right before her. She had achieved a dramatic weight-loss transformation and caught Yuki.

And so Yuki was bound by her promise to move on to lesson two.

(3/28)

Yuki invited Tamamo into the apartment complex, and the two soon arrived at Apartment 107. Since Yuki had just come back from school, she was wearing her sailor-style uniform. She pulled on her ribbon while looking at Tamamo.

“I’m going to get changed, so wait here.”

Yuki opened the door to her apartment. She slipped off her loafers and stepped into the entryway. After taking several steps, she opened her built-in closet. With a hand on the collar of her uniform, Yuki began to change—

—when she sensed someone behind her.

Yuki turned around.

Tamamo was standing inches from her.

“…………”

Yuki glanced over at the entryway and noticed a pair of shoes that did not belong to her. Next, she shifted her gaze to Tamamo’s legs, which were both squarely inside Yuki’s apartment, before her eyes finally fell on the girl’s beaming face, which showed no doubts over the fact that she had entered without permission.

“…When I said ‘wait here,’ I meant outside.”

“I know,” Tamamo replied.

“What? Are you hoping to watch me change…?”

“Would it be all right if I did?”

“Of course not.” Yuki looked straight into Tamamo’s eyes, which, for some reason, were faintly glimmering.

“I don’t want to wait outside,” Tamamo complained. “I want to be beside you as much as possible.”

“…Fine,” Yuki relented.

She stepped fully into the closet and shut the door, so as to not be seen by Tamamo. Then she grabbed a tracksuit that was on a hanger and began to change in the darkness.

Yuki mulled over her situation. Even though she’d had absolutely zero intention of mentoring a protégée, she had no choice but to follow through on her promise. But how should she go about it? Since Yuki had believed she had fully escaped Tamamo’s grasp, she hadn’t given any thought as to what to teach the girl, and since this would be her first time as a mentor, she had no clue where to start. What was it like when she’d been a protégée? What was the first lesson Hakushi had given her? It had been so long ago that her memories were awfully hazy. Perhaps it would be wise to seek Hakushi’s advice on training a protégée. Although Yuki was usually reluctant to seek her mentor’s assistance, this situation was different, since it was for her protégée instead of herself. By the time Yuki decided she would reach out to Hakushi later that night, she had finished changing.

Upon stepping out of the closet, Yuki heard the sound of running water.

“Wha…?!”

The noise was coming from the kitchen. Tamamo was doing the dishes.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing?” Yuki asked as she dashed over.

“Oh, Yuki,” Tamamo replied, cleaning a plate with a sponge. “Your dirty dishes were piled up, so I was washing them… Am I being a bother?”

“Well, no… I wouldn’t say that.”

Yuki looked around her kitchen. It was a gigantic mess. Not only were her dirty plates and utensils untouched, but lying next to the sink were empty convenience store meal containers, instant ramen packages, wooden chopsticks, plastic spoons, and more. She had done nothing else but rinse them with water. How long had it been since she’d really done the dishes? She scanned her memory, and it came up empty. Still, her current kitchen was on the cleaner side these days, relatively speaking. In its heyday of mess—before Candle Woods—her kitchen had been such a disaster that it had been impossible for her to even do the dishes.

Of course, Yuki did prefer her kitchen to be clean. She was grateful Tamamo was willing to help, but she was embarrassed—far more embarrassed than she would have been if Tamamo had watched her change. That was because the mess was a symbol of her slovenly lifestyle.

“…Just curious, have you looked anywhere besides the kitchen?” Yuki asked.

“Where do you mean?”

“Like, the bath or the toilet…”

“No, I haven’t… Are they in a similar state?”

“Of course not. Why would you think that?” Yuki smiled. “But don’t go in without my permission. There’s, um…plutonium inside, so it’s not safe.”

(4/28)

Yuki stepped outside in her tracksuit.

She had decided to go on an evening walk, something that had been part of her daily routine for over a year now. Walking the cold, empty streets in the middle of the night brought great calm to her heart. For a resident of a world of death, these strolls offered a necessary respite to maintain her sanity.

Tonight, however, this activity was in no way relaxing.

With eyes half closed, Yuki glanced next to her. There, just as before, was the smiling Tamamo. She was walking beside Yuki, occupying the exact position where she would just barely be visible out of the corner of Yuki’s eye. The flashes of the girl’s face coming into view and the constant weight of her gaze worked in harmony to block Yuki from feeling calm in any way.

“So um…,” Yuki said. “Tamamo, right?”

“Yes,” the girl responded eagerly.

“You look like you’re still a minor. Is it okay for you to be out this late? Won’t your family get concerned?”

“It’s all right. There’s no one who would worry about me.”

Although the girl spoke in a gentle tone, there was an unmistakable something hidden in her voice. Still, Yuki decided not to pry into the specifics. She herself had similar circumstances, after all.

“…Look, I’m fine with taking you on as a protégée…” Yuki scratched her head. “It’s just—I really don’t know what to teach you first. I didn’t expect you to show up tonight, so I’m not prepared at all. If you give me some time, I’ll draw up a plan for lesson two and beyond, so…can we start your training tomorrow instead?”

“I understand.”

“Great. Then let’s call it here for the day. You can head home…”

“No. Please let me stay by your side for today,” Tamamo said with a beaming face. Although her expression was all smiles, her attitude left no room for refusal.

“…………”

Yuki fell silent.

She continued to quietly walk down the dark street. Tamamo followed beside her at exactly the same pace. Yuki tried speeding up, only for Tamamo to do the same. Next, Yuki slightly slowed down, but naturally, Tamamo immediately decreased her speed as well. The girl didn’t get any closer or drift farther apart—she maintained a fixed distance away from Yuki.

She’s awfully fussy about keeping up, Yuki thought. Tamamo had shown the same attitude when entering Yuki’s apartment without permission, but evidently, the girl was unwilling to be separated by even the slightest distance. Perhaps her behavior was a lasting consequence of lesson one, when Yuki had run away and abandoned Tamamo.

If that was true, Yuki felt sorry about what she did, but regardless, being followed around was not a pleasant experience. She didn’t enjoy having someone constantly in her personal space or being in their view around the clock. She could accept taking Tamamo as a protégée, but she wished she could be alone when they didn’t need to be together.

That was why Yuki spoke up.

“…I go running every night. One lap around a set course. It’s important for players to build up their stamina, so I made this a part of my routine.”

That was a bald-faced lie. Although it was true that Yuki would go on training runs, she typically would only roam around the neighborhood. Needless to say, she had no set course, either.

Yet Tamamo appeared to believe Yuki.

“I see. I’m not surprised,” she said in a tone of respect.

“Sorry to string you along like this, but do your best to keep up.”

“Understood.”

“Right, then… Let’s go!”

Yuki had already broken into a run before the words left her mouth.

Since she had intentionally given the signal in a way to catch Tamamo off guard, the girl was slow to start. Without paying her any mind, Yuki ramped up her pace and quickly reached her max speed. In the short time that a human was capable of sustaining anaerobic exercise, Yuki rounded the corner and slipped out of Tamamo’s view.

Yuki slowed down as she turned and maintained this decreased speed—the optimal pace for a long-distance run. The chilly night air filled her lungs. Like a phantom, she silently dashed down the street, contorted her body to squeeze between walls, cut across private property, and—without stopping for a break—climbed a hill that seemed at least sixty feet high. Then she slid down a railing, scaled a locked fence, and hopped on stepping stones across a raging river. This was no longer a training run; Yuki had absolutely no intention of letting Tamamo catch up. She continued onward…

…until she reached a convenience store.

Yuki’s heart pounded loudly as huffs and puffs escaped her lips. She turned toward the convenience store while wiping sweat off her face with the sleeve of her tracksuit. This was where she typically shopped. Tonight, the rather complicated path she had taken to it had tired her out, but the optimal route she normally took from her apartment was a pleasant five-minute walk.

Yuki scanned her surroundings. Tamamo was nowhere to be seen, at least in the area illuminated by the store lights.

“…Must’ve lost her…,” Yuki muttered to herself. Moving her lactic acid–filled legs, she entered the store.

As soon as she did, footsteps echoed from behind her.

“……?!”

Yuki turned around in surprise.

At some point, Tamamo had crept up on her.

“Ah… Long time no see, Yuki,” Tamamo said. “So this is the arduous training you go through every night, huh? I had no idea.”

The girl had flushed cheeks and was panting. She appeared to be as exhausted as Yuki.

Still—she had caught up. Yuki had failed to flee from Tamamo not once but twice.

The two of them stood in place for a short while to catch their breaths.

Yuki was the next to speak. “…See now? If you become my protégée, this is how tough it’ll be every day. Getting second thoughts?”

“Not at all.”

(5/28)

After buying a new ice cream product for herself and treating Tamamo to one as well, Yuki left the convenience store.

Even then, Tamamo insisted on tagging along.

While Yuki’s typical route took her straight home from the store, tonight she deviated from her routine, as she couldn’t bear the thought of Tamamo cleaning her apartment again. She killed time by chilling in a manga café, lingering as long as she could at a twenty-four-hour chain restaurant after ordering the cheapest item off the menu and simply wandering the night roads. Ditching Tamamo was at the front of her mind, but her multiple attempts to do so all ended in failure.

As Yuki continued to bustle about, dawn started to break. Sleepiness began to take hold of her, so she relented and decided to return home. After rinsing off her sweat at a bathhouse that opened at the crack of dawn, she headed for her apartment. On the way, she passed an elderly resident walking their dog, a student heading to morning sports practice, a businessman rubbing his weary eyes, and other early risers. Although the hour marked the start of the day for ordinary people, the day was drawing to a close for night owls like Yuki.

“Where do you plan to sleep today?” Yuki asked Tamamo, who was still walking beside her.

“Huh? Well, um… If it isn’t a burden…,” Tamamo replied, fidgeting. She seemed hesitant to ask point-blank if she could crash at Yuki’s apartment.

“You’re welcome to stay over,” Yuki offered. “There aren’t any hotels around here…”

The two returned to Yuki’s apartment. Yuki pulled out her mattress from the closet and laid it on the floor.

“I’ve only got the one, so go ahead and use it for yourself,” Yuki said. “It’s what I always sleep on, so I’m sorry if it’s dirty.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” Tamamo stretched out her hands in front of her face. “I can’t kick you out of your own bed… I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Oh? Yuki thought. Now you’re acting all considerate?

Tamamo’s apparent change of heart caused Yuki’s devilish side to take over.

“Why don’t we sleep together?” she proposed.

“Huh?! …B-but…”

Tamamo’s face turned pale—presenting Yuki with an opening to strike.

“Something wrong?” Yuki asked, feigning ignorance. “I only have one mattress, so there’s no other way to keep us both warm.”

“No, but um…,” Tamamo stammered.

Yuki lightly pushed the girl by the shoulders, making her fall to the mattress. Then Yuki covered Tamamo with the blanket before joining her underneath.

The two of them were now co-sleeping, as some called it.

“W-wait, Yuki…!”

Tamamo scrambled to escape from the blanket, but Yuki firmly pressed down on the girl to stymie her efforts.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to stay by my side? Why are you so against this?” Yuki asked, using Tamamo’s earlier words against her.

Tamamo let her eyes fall, seemingly struggling to come up with a rebuttal. The now-flushed color of her fair skin made it clear that she was blushing. How cute, Yuki thought.

After gaining Tamamo’s consent—or rather, after Tamamo stopped resisting—the two of them went to bed. Tamamo shut her eyes tightly and fell silent, as if trying to drift off to sleep as fast as she could. Yuki kept her eyes open, closely observing the girl.

The mattress was designed for a single person. If two people wanted to share it, they would have to snuggle up close. This meant Yuki and Tamamo were currently in extreme proximity to one another, a distance that would be considered far too close even for a parent and child or siblings. Yuki was near enough to Tamamo’s face to make out the individual hairs of her eyelashes.

Surprisingly, even with such a close-up view, Yuki was unable to spot a single imperfection in the girl’s features. There was not a wrinkle or a pimple to be found, all the parts of her face were positioned exactly where they should be, and the areas around her eyes and the bridge of her nose combined to form an impeccable curve. Even with the Preservation Treatment, the girl’s beauty was out of this world. Her appearance also induced a certain amount of fear, as if it was on the verge of entering the uncanny valley despite Tamamo being human, like a maximally touched-up selfie.

As Yuki continued to observe, for some reason, she started getting excited. The fact Tamamo was not just beautiful was what fired up Yuki even more. Yuki had a personal theory that things—be they manga or music—were only truly charming when they were not just pleasant but also imbued with a certain degree of unpleasantness. The constant loop of relief and anxiety was a path toward ecstasy. Tamamo possessed that very quality, which greatly amplified Yuki’s emotions.

Soon enough, Yuki began acting on those feelings—by tightly wrapping her arms around Tamamo’s torso.

“……?!?!”

Tamamo opened her eyes and began flailing about, seemingly unable to endure the situation. However, Yuki did not release Tamamo from the hug; in fact, she enjoyed the overwhelmingly pleasant feeling of Tamamo flailing in her arms. Yuki felt an endless itching and tingling inside her, as if their two souls were rubbing against each other. This moment taught Yuki that embracing another human being felt good—especially when it was her adorable protégée.

Before long, Tamamo stopped resisting, going still in Yuki’s arms. Without the stimulation of Tamamo flailing around, Yuki also calmed down to some extent.

Maybe having a protégée isn’t so bad after all.

Yuki shut her eyes and let her consciousness drift away.

—Time returns to the present.

(6/28)

Yuki awoke.

The rays of the setting sun filtered through the windows and cast a red glow over the apartment. It was evening. Sitting up and rubbing her weary eyes, Yuki looked beside her.

Tamamo was sleeping soundly on the same mattress as her.

The two of them were physically quite close to each other. They were in the same state as they had been that morning. Apparently, they had fallen asleep while cuddling.

Yuki pressed her hand against her head. She muttered, “…What are we, a couple of lovebirds?”

(7/28)

That was how the curtain rose on Yuki and Tamamo’s mentor-protégée relationship.

The next day and beyond, Tamamo showed no inclination whatsoever to leave. Although she had mentioned wanting to stay by Yuki’s side “for today,” apparently, that did not mean she would leave the following day. In lieu of paying for accommodation, Tamamo handled all the household chores, such as doing laundry, cooking, and cleaning the apartment—including the bath and toilet Yuki had not wanted the girl to see. Yuki was greatly embarrassed when Tamamo undertook that task with a coy expression.

Yuki did not merely put Tamamo to work; she endeavored to fulfill her own duties as a mentor, too. Deciding to put off the nitty-gritty details until after meeting with Hakushi, Yuki first taught Tamamo about the games, covering the different game types—escape games, competitive games, survival games—the flow of events before and after games, the existence of people in related industries, and so on. For a beginner like Tamamo, there was much to gain from even such a basic lesson.

In addition to knowledge, Yuki also bestowed Tamamo with another gift: a mattress. Since Yuki lacked the audacity to sleep while cuddling every night, she decided to purchase a set of bedding exclusively for guest use.

Several days had passed since the two of them began sleeping on adjacent mattresses.

Yuki stepped out of her apartment, leaving Tamamo behind; somehow, she had persuaded the girl to wait by herself. Her destination was the smaller city she had visited some time ago. She had set up a meeting with her mentor at the magic bar. By the time Yuki arrived, Hakushi was already at the counter. Without turning her head, Hakushi glanced over in Yuki’s direction and greeted her with a “Hey.”

“Good evening,” Yuki replied, taking a seat next to her mentor. After the two of them enjoyed some small talk, watched the bartender’s magic show, and finished their drinks, Yuki brought up the main thing she wanted to discuss.

“So you’ve finally taken on a protégée of your own,” Hakushi said. “How’s it going? Do you see potential in this Tamamo girl?”

“Well, it’s too early to tell… So far, I’ve only been teaching her about the games.”

“…Oh?”

“I also bought a mattress for her.”

Incidentally, for the past several days, Yuki had been busy dealing with the problem with her classmate. That was another reason she hadn’t made much progress in mentoring Tamamo.

“You’re sure taking your sweet time,” Hakushi remarked.

“That’s sort of the reason I wanted to meet… I need your advice. How should I be mentoring a protégée? What was it like when you were showing me the ropes?”

“Right, let’s see…”

Evidently, Hakushi had a far better memory than Yuki. The woman explained all the lessons she had given to Yuki in great detail.

“That’s about it,” Hakushi said, winding up her account. “Of course, you don’t need to follow my formula. If you have ideas of your own, feel free to incorporate those. She’s your protégée, so do as you see fit.”

“…I guess so…,” Yuki muttered.

“Something else on your mind?”

“Oh, no…”

Hakushi appeared to perceive something from Yuki’s stammering.

“…Could it be that you didn’t want a protégée?” she asked.

“Well, um… It’s true this wasn’t exactly a situation I was eager to be in…”

While interrupting herself with plenty of ums and ahs, Yuki explained what had happened.

“It’s like, teaching someone comes with a lot of responsibility, you know? Everything I do and say will directly impact how long Tamamo survives. I’ve never had that responsibility outside of a game, so I’m having trouble wrapping my head around it…”

In her twenty-eighth game, Ghost House, Yuki had taught other players game basics. Inside a game, she could impart knowledge without feeling responsibility, since she had set a rule for herself to never accept fault for the things that happened there. However, she felt far more powerless outside of the games, where she was not acting in the capacity of a player. The responsibility that came with being an ordinary human had reared its ugly head.

“Harness your desire to do right by her and train her up as best you can,” Hakushi said, offering a reasonable suggestion.

“…I’m curious, how did you feel about taking me on as a protégée?”

“Well, back then, I couldn’t tell whether you were actually alive or dead. I figured you wouldn’t even care if you died.”

“Cold, much?”

“Anyway, I suggest you make the most of this opportunity. Make an earnest effort to build a connection with another person. It’ll do an individualistic player like you some good.”

“I don’t know about that…” Yuki plopped her head down onto the counter.

“That reminds me,” Hakushi said, changing the topic, “you mentioned you were going to take lessons from someone else, right?”

Indeed, when setting up the meeting, Yuki had briefly informed Hakushi about her life details.

“Yeah. There’s someone who apparently played in the games while being blind. I’m going to visit her soon.”

Yuki placed her hand against her right cheekbone. Just above it was her right eye, which, according to the results of an exam she had recently taken, was gradually losing its function. She had felt an urgent need to do something about it, and thankfully, a girl she had recently met by the name of Kokone was able to introduce her to a blind former player. They had already set up a meeting, and all that was left was to wait for the agreed-upon day to arrive.

“I think her name was Rinrin, but that’s all I know about her at this point…”

“Hmm…” Hakushi touched her chin. “I’ve heard that name before.”

“Oh, you knew her?”

“No, not really. Only her name, the fact that she’s blind, and—”

Hakushi cut herself off abruptly. Several seconds later, she resumed speaking.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“If you’re going to meet her…I’d advise you to prepare for the worst.”

“……?”

Yuki was going to ask for clarification, but before she could, Hakushi stood up and went to pay.

It would only be a short while before Yuki learned the meaning behind Hakushi’s words—the hard way.

(8/28)

Several days after her meeting with Hakushi, Yuki went to visit the blind player with Tamamo in tow.

As part of the journey, Yuki rode an airplane for the first time in her life. Although the prospect of problems occurring during the flight had excited her somewhat, fortunately—or perhaps, unfortunately—they landed safely at their destination airport. From there, they boarded a ship that took them to a certain island, before they transferred to a different boat. Since there was no regularly scheduled ferry service to the location where Yuki and Tamamo were headed, they had to make their own arrangements. Thankfully, since Yuki’s agent was apparently capable of driving a boat, they asked her to take them there.

And so Yuki and Tamamo stepped off the vessel, setting foot on a remote island.

The island had a different ambience from the one that had served as the venue for Cloudy Beach. While that previous island could be considered “a resort area brimming with nature,” this one would be more aptly described as “a remote area shaped by human hands.” There was a pier constructed at the edge of the island, paved roads lined by stone walls on both sides, utility poles set up in equidistant intervals whose power lines partitioned the beautiful blue sky, and houses and buildings dotting the area.

Yuki and Tamamo began walking across the island with bags on their shoulders. Although they did not know what to expect after meeting Rinrin, they figured they would be staying on the island for quite some time, so they’d packed as if they were going on a short vacation. The weight of their possessions added extra heft to their footsteps.

“…Ugh, there’s no reception,” Yuki said, checking her cell phone.

The words NO SERVICE were displayed on the screen, indicating that the device was out of range of mobile networks. Although Yuki had seen this message before, the previous times had mostly been under specific circumstances, such as immediately after powering on her phone or before she inserted a SIM card into the device. This could very well have been her first time experiencing the intended purpose of that warning: informing her that she was actually in a location with no signal.

“Same for me.” Tamamo was looking at her phone while walking beside Yuki. “Is there really someone living here?”

“I’m pretty sure we have the right place…”

Kokone had only told Yuki about the location of the island and that, since it wasn’t very large, Yuki would be able to find Rinrin without much trouble. Regardless of what might happen after they actually met, Yuki had not been concerned about actually locating the woman.

Now, however, she was growing uneasy. Although the island had plenty of human-made structures, it was devoid of signs of life. Actually, upon closer inspection, things appeared to be in a state of ruin, with cracked roads and a number of collapsed houses. Had they gone to the wrong island by mistake?

Much to Yuki’s relief, however, after around half an hour walking with those worries on her mind, she came across a reassuring sight: a coat hanging on a stone wall. Her knowledge of fashion was limited, so she couldn’t glean much from it, but Tamamo pointed out to her that it was a woman’s garment.

“I suspect this must belong to Rinrin,” Tamamo mused, peeking past the stone wall.

Beyond the wall was a house, separated by a yard. It was a single-story, Japanese-style wooden home with a tiled roof that brought to mind images of the countryside. The building sat comfortably on a plot of land so large that it would be impossible to imagine in the middle of a city, appearing as if it was basking in the sun.

Yuki looked back and forth between the house and the coat. “Rinrin must’ve put this here as a landmark…”

The coat was in pristine condition, suggesting it had been left on the wall no earlier than the previous day. Considering its position in front of a house, there was a high chance it was meant to convey Rinrin’s location.

Yuki and Tamamo walked up to the house. There was no doorbell, so Yuki knocked to announce her presence.

“Coming!” a small voice responded from the other side.

Moments later, Yuki heard the sound of jingling mixed in with approaching footsteps. Yuki stood there wondering what the noise could be for about half a minute, after which the door slid open with a rattling noise characteristic of old houses.

“Why, welcome.”

Standing there was a youthful-looking woman. Yuki had pictured Rinrin to be around Kirihara’s age since the two of them had been friends, but the woman appeared to be younger, either because she actually was or as a consequence of her style. She had a gentle, elder sister–like aura, and from each of her ears dangled a small bell—likely the source of the jingling.

And most importantly: Both her eyes were closed.

Although the woman’s appearance essentially convinced Yuki of her identity, she still asked for confirmation just in case. “Would you happen to be Rinrin?”

“Indeed,” the woman answered. “You must be Yuki.”

“Yes.”

“—And who is that girl with you?” Rinrin asked, gesturing at Tamamo with her hand.

At Rinrin’s gesture, a look of shock spread across Tamamo’s face, but the girl quickly composed herself and bowed. “I’m Yuki’s protégée, Tamamo.”

“Oh? So you have a protégée, Yuki.”

“Um… How did you know she was here?” Yuki asked. “You…can’t see, right? And Tamamo hasn’t said a word.”

“Yes, that is true,” Rinrin replied. “However, I can easily tell something like that without sight… Now, come in. Let’s continue our conversation inside.”

Rinrin turned around and stepped farther into the house. Yuki and Tamamo did the same. The two of them took off their shoes and placed them in the entryway. As if having watched and waited for them to step into the hallway, Rinrin began walking at the perfect moment. The two girls followed her lead, and the three proceeded down the hallway.

“Thank you for coming all this way,” Rinrin said. “Your cell phones have no service, right?”

“Yeah, there’s no signal,” Yuki replied.

“I apologize for calling you out here. It was absolutely necessary that this be our meeting place…”

“……? Rinrin, do you not live on this island?” Since that was what the woman’s tone had seemed to imply, Yuki decided to ask.

“Heavens, no,” Rinrin replied. “Do you think anyone could live alone in a place as remote as this? Least of all someone completely blind.”

She had a point.

“…I guess not,” Yuki replied.

“An acquaintance set things up on this island for me in order to make this an enjoyable experience for the two of you…”

Yuki reflected on the situation. Although the island showed signs of being shaped by human hands, it had most likely been abandoned some time ago, which was why it felt like a wasteland.

That aside, Rinrin’s use of the word enjoyable implied something more than mere fun. Yuki wondered exactly what the woman had in store for them.

“…………”

Yuki carefully observed Rinrin as the woman walked on ahead.

She’d heard Rinrin had played in the games while completely blind. That was the reason she was visiting her. Yet so far, Rinrin’s actions seemed to have mirrored those of someone who had the full faculty of sight. She had noticed the presence of Tamamo, who hadn’t spoken a word before then, and had even politely waited for them to take off their shoes. Plus, the woman was turning corners and avoiding obstacles without using a guide cane as they walked down the hallway.

Yuki turned her attention to Rinrin’s ears. Although they were hidden beneath Rinrin’s hair, she could see the earrings attached to them, along with the bells hanging from her earrings. With every step Rinrin took, the bells would jingle, brightening the mood of the hallway.

Are those bells for what I think they’re for?

“Um… Rinrin?” Yuki spoke up.

“What is it?”

“Do you wear those bells to generate echoes?”

Echolocation. The act of perceiving one’s surroundings and orienting oneself through the reflection of sound waves. Bats and dolphins were well-known to possess the skill, and it was even possible for humans to pull it off by clicking their tongue or tapping the ground with a cane. Yuki had never heard of someone doing this by wearing bells, but when you considered how bells might help a person with total blindness, it wasn’t difficult to come up with that theory.

“Exactly.” Rinrin flicked the bell hanging from her left ear. “These have been with me for ten years now. After I lost my eyesight, I had to find a way to compensate for my disability…and the idea came to me. I think it’s fitting, since my name is reminiscent of the ringing of a bell.”

Rinrin giggled. It was a grating laugh, the kind you often heard among young women.

“Is navigating with bells a skill that can be learned?”

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Though, it does require a considerable amount of time to become proficient.”

At the very least, Yuki had solved the mystery of how Rinrin was so aware of her surroundings. However, even if that technique allowed her to go about her daily life, it would not be enough for her to thrive as a player. There had to be something more.

“Yuki, are you having problems with your right eye?” Rinrin asked out of the blue.

“Huh?” The question took Yuki aback.

“The length of your stride is shorter when you step with your right foot than with your left. That implies you are more guarded when it comes to your right side. Given you sought me out, I gather that either you must be unable to see out of your right eye or your vision is deteriorating… Am I mistaken?”

Her stride. Yuki was momentarily taken aback that the woman was able to perceive such minor differences by ear, but then—

“…Okay, I see what’s going on,” Yuki said. “This is a bluff. Kokone filled you in about me ahead of time, right?”

Kokone was the link between Yuki and Rinrin. The girl was aware of Yuki’s vision loss in her right eye, so naturally, she must have mentioned it to Rinrin when setting up the meeting. It wouldn’t be odd for Rinrin to know about Yuki’s condition.

Rinrin giggled. “Exactly. Well done noticing.”

“Please don’t tell pointless lies.”

“Bluffing is no less important a technique in death games. Especially for someone like me…”

At that point in the conversation, Rinrin ushered Yuki and Tamamo into the drawing room. It had tatami mat flooring and various pieces of furniture that fit the image of a traditional Japanese home. The room appeared to be on the edge of the house, as sunlight was filtering in through paper sliding doors.

Rinrin sat down on a cushion next to the large table. Yuki and Tamamo followed suit on the other side.

“Now, let’s get straight down to business,” Rinrin said. “Kokone informed me of your situation…but allow me to confirm the facts. You are a player like me, and the vision in your right eye has started deteriorating.”

“Yes.”

“You have come to visit me to learn how you can continue fighting on as a player without relying on sight.”

“Exactly.”

“I won’t ask for your reason.” Rinrin brought a hand to her chest. “I do not need to ask to know I empathize with your circumstances. I sincerely wish to be of assistance, so I’ll support you however I can.”

“…I appreciate that,” Yuki replied.

Apparently, the woman felt strongly for Yuki. While it seemed strange Rinrin would express such emotion toward a virtual stranger, considering the severity of the issue of eyesight and their shared background as players, the woman must have greatly identified with Yuki’s situation.

“I gave a lot of thought to how I could best convey my techniques to you,” Rinrin continued. “While it is possible by word of mouth alone, I fear that will not be sufficient. You and I are two different beings. Though we share a language, there is no guarantee that the same words will resonate with us in the same way…”

The woman had spoken poetically, but Yuki thought her points to be true.

“That is why I have decided on a more dynamic approach. Thankfully, you and I are both players. We know of a method of conveying techniques that is far more effective than words, while being just as accurate. Isn’t that right?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“If you are a player, then surely you make a habit of it. I am referring to, of course, stealing the techniques of the people you fight with and against… Although I find my skills as a teacher to be lacking, I am still confident in my combat abilities. So that is how we will proceed.”

“Do you mean we’ll be sparring or something?” Yuki theorized.

All of a sudden, Rinrin pressed a hand to her lips—to suppress her laughter. After a few moments of giggling uncontrollably…

“You’re a funny girl,” she replied. “I would not have called you to this island for a simple sparring match. When I said ‘combat,’ I meant it literally.

“Allow me to explain the rules,” Rinrin continued. “In game terms…I suppose you can consider this an escape game. Hidden somewhere on this island are a motorboat and its accompanying smart key. You will clear the game upon using those items to escape the island. Meanwhile, I will attempt to prevent you two from leaving. There is no designated time limit, and no tactic is prohibited. You are free to use anything on this island however you see fit to win. There are also food provisions and lethal instruments hidden all over, so I suggest you try searching for them.”

“…‘Lethal instruments’? What do you mean by that?” Yuki asked, curious about Rinrin’s ominous choice of words.

“Yes, well… I found a few when I conducted a cursory search after arriving here yesterday…”

Rinrin stood up and walked toward an old-fashioned chest of drawers. After opening one of the drawers, she pulled out two objects and set them on the table.

“Like these, for example.”

No matter what angle you looked at them, they were undeniably weapons.

(9/28)

On the table rested one handgun and one butterfly knife. Neither object was fake. As a denizen of a merciless world where she constantly had to keep her wits about her, Yuki could distinguish between real and fake weapons by sight alone. These ones were illegal to possess in Japan without just cause, the kind that could effortlessly take a human life.

Rinrin picked up the gun and fired. Of course, she hadn’t pointed the weapon at Yuki and Tamamo; she had aimed it at the sliding door, likely as a demonstration. Four gunshots rang out in rapid succession, and with each booming roar of the firearm, another hole opened up diagonally below the door handle.

“…………”

Yuki was speechless.

“I do not know how many are hidden on this island,” Rinrin continued nonchalantly, “but I was able to find these two inside this house alone. It stands to reason there are plenty more scattered around. I imagine you will not be at a loss for weapons.”

“C-could you stop right there for a second?” Yuki interrupted. Although Rinrin naturally could not see it, Yuki had instinctively stuck out her hands to gesture for the woman to stop. “Wh-what are you suggesting? Are we seriously going to be fighting to the death?”

“You’re reacting like a first-time player.”

Rinrin giggled. Yuki couldn’t see what was so funny.

“Why are you so surprised?” Rinrin asked. “What did you think when you heard me say the word combat?”

“Well, you know… I was expecting something more along the lines of mock combat. Why does this need to resemble a game? And even if we have to use weapons, what’s wrong with ones that are less lethal?”

“Too soft. If you wish to improve your combat skills, you must train in conditions that are as close as possible to an actual game. Was this not how your mentor instructed you?”

“Of course not! She taught me things in a normal way!”

Although Yuki couldn’t say that Hakushi had taught her in a kind way, none of the woman’s lessons had been this violent—at least, not that she could recall.

“Is that so? Players these days are far too lax.”

Rinrin picked up the butterfly knife and flipped it open in a smooth motion. The movement would have seemed more amusing than terrifying when performed by a random delinquent off the street, but seeing it done by a gentle, youthful-looking woman—and someone blind at that—was bone-chilling.

“However, this is my way of doing things—and I insist you follow along.”

“…………”

Once again, Yuki was rendered speechless. It took a few seconds for her to fully accept this was really happening. After that, she glanced at her protégée, Tamamo, who was sitting beside her.

“In that case, I want to let Tamamo go home before we begin,” Yuki said. “We took a boat here, so she can use that…”

Yuki’s agent was standing by at the pier with the boat they had used to get here, as it had not been clear how long their island stay would be or what would happen after their meeting with Rinrin. It was possible Yuki and Tamamo could use that boat to escape the island without going along with Rinrin’s game. However…

“No can do,” Rinrin said. “Or rather, I should say that it is too late. That boat is long gone.”

“Huh?”

Rinrin slid open the door. She walked across the veranda, slipped on some geta sandals, and stepped out into the yard. Although she didn’t give any instructions, Yuki and Tamamo followed after her.

They walked across the yard to a spot overlooking the entire surrounding area. Only now did Yuki realize the house was situated on a hill. She saw the path she and Tamamo had walked up, along with the pier where they had arrived.

Yet for some reason, the boat was gone.

“Was it your agent, perhaps?” Rinrin remarked. “The presence of other boats would throw a wrench in things, so I had her leave. As such, you no longer have a means of escaping this island besides clearing my game.”

“…………”

Yuki was struck speechless for a third time. Yuki and Tamamo’s trek to the house had not been a smooth and quick journey. They had gone back and forth between branching paths and dead ends to search for where Rinrin could be. While they had been taking their sweet time, Rinrin must have traveled from the house to the pier, directed Yuki’s agent to leave the island, and returned. That would have required great skill.

“Are you serious about this?” Yuki asked, staring at the gun in Rinrin’s hand.

Whether or not she could sense Yuki’s gaze, Rinrin raised the weapon. “I would not bring this out if I was joking.”

“You said no tactics will be prohibited. So…should we interpret that to mean you’ll be coming at us with intent to kill?”

“Yes, that would be accurate.”

“I don’t mean to be rude…but it’s entirely possible we might take your life. You are aware of that, right?”

According to Rinrin, this mock game would be an escape game. That meant they could clear it without killing Rinrin. Yuki had zero intention of killing outside of a game. However, considering the kinds of weapons they would be using, she couldn’t dismiss the possibility she would need to take a life.

Rinrin smiled. “A strange question. Isn’t that obvious? I gave up my attachment to life the day I became a player.”

Something about her remark didn’t sit right with Yuki, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. What could it be? Although Yuki wanted to continue sitting and pondering, Rinrin cut short her train of thought.

“Now, shall we begin?”

Rinrin pointed the gun at the sky. The next word out of her mouth would immediately communicate what this meant.

“One…”

Yuki turned to Tamamo, who nodded in response. A moment later, the two of them took off as fast as they could. They kicked off their sandals, dashed across the yard to the drawing room, exited, and sped down the hallway at a pace ten times faster than that of when they had first arrived, like super-express bullet trains. They scrambled to put on their shoes, etiquette be damned, and the moment they left the house, a gunshot rang out, signaling the start of the mock game.

Fortunately, Rinrin had given Yuki and Tamamo a head start. The gunshot had sounded exactly ten seconds after the woman began counting, which had given the two of them enough time to make it outside the house. Yuki was grateful that it hadn’t been three seconds or five seconds, but even so, she did not think for a moment that Rinrin had an ounce of mercy in her.

(10/28)

After leaving the house, Yuki and Tamamo continued to run.

They ran and ran and ran and ran as fast as they could, with a sense of seriousness that had been utterly absent during their long “training run” some time ago. Yuki was genuinely relieved she had learned Tamamo possessed the endurance to keep up with her back then—and that the girl had actually slimmed down. Now she didn’t need to worry about leaving her protégée behind, even if she sprinted at max speed. After dashing down a cracked road, leaping over a stone wall, and cutting across a grove of trees, the two of them continued to retreat. By that point, Yuki was nearly out of breath, her vision was growing hazy, and her legs were no longer fully cooperative. When a metallic taste began to fill her mouth—

—she heard the sound of Tamamo falling behind her.

“Ah…”

The second Yuki turned around in worry, she also tripped and dropped to the ground. Both of them had fallen to their knees in the middle of the road.

With the last reserves of Yuki’s stamina exhausted, getting back on her feet from a kneeling position presented a nearly impossible challenge. She crawled over to Tamamo like a dog and asked, “Are you okay?”

“My…my legs feel like jelly…,” Tamamo replied. Her lower body was indeed trembling, a sign she had reached her limit.

“Let them give out,” Yuki said.

Yuki then scanned their surroundings. The road continued to their front and rear, while to the left and right, groves of trees stretched out beyond the stone walls. There was no sign of Rinrin in any direction.

They had gotten away—for now, at least. Yuki wiped the sweat off her forehead, sweeping aside the hair that had clumped together as well.

“Ugh… This is ridiculous…,” Yuki grumbled as her lungs begged for oxygen.

Nothing could have prepared her for this situation. Although she had figured undergoing training from a former player wouldn’t be a painless experience, she hadn’t expected anything like this. It was essentially the same as an actual game—or rather, even more ruthless than an actual game. Since the organizers were not involved, they wouldn’t be offered medical support come the end of the competition. Though Yuki was still under the effects of the Preservation Treatment, she would need to deal with whatever injuries she accrued here herself. What was she to do? Could she ask her agent for help? Would the organizers be willing to treat wounds she incurred outside an official game? And what about Rinrin? Was she no longer under the effects of the Preservation Treatment, like Hitomi and Kirihara? Did Kokone know about this mock game? If so, Yuki was prepared to physically harass her the next time they met. I might as well count this toward my goal of ninety-nine—when Yuki’s thoughts began to veer toward escapism, she shook her head to clear it.

“Sorry to drag you into this,” Yuki said to Tamamo.

“Oh, no, I’m, fine. Really…” Tamamo’s choppy words between heavy breaths made it clear that she was, in fact, not fine.

Although Yuki was glad to hear Tamamo say that, inside, the girl was probably exasperated with the situation. At least, Yuki felt that way herself. While she could accept dying in a game, she couldn’t stomach the idea of biting the dust during a training exercise.

Just then, Yuki remembered they had been so preoccupied with running away that they had left their bags in the house. Both she and Tamamo had nothing but the clothes on their backs. To be precise, they did have their phones in their pockets, but their devices still had no service, so calling for help would be impossible.

“Tamamo, can your phone make satellite calls by any chance?” Yuki asked.

Tamamo shook her head. “Sorry, I should have been more prepared…”

It’s not your fault, Yuki thought. It was an unreasonable ask to begin with. Besides, Yuki didn’t even know if modern smartphones had satellite-calling capabilities.

Once the fatigue disappeared from her legs, Yuki got back on her feet. She rambled around the vicinity, wondering if she might be able to get service somehow, but what she found was not a signal.

Inside the grove, she spotted something black: a long and thin rod around three feet in length. Upon closer examination, it was slightly curved and had some heft to it. Suddenly, Yuki had a flash of insight. She gently pulled on the rod—

—revealing a blade with a wavy pattern on the sharp edge.

It was a katana.

“…………”

Yuki sheathed the sword and mustered her resolve.

With the situation being what it was, she had no choice but to do it.

She had to steal the techniques of Rinrin, the blind player.

(11/28)

Yuki and Tamamo went over the rules Rinrin had explained to them.

The mock game fell under the category of escape games. They would clear it if they located both the boat and the key hidden somewhere on the island and used them to flee. However, Rinrin would work to prevent them from getting away. All options were on the table—including killing, of course. Theoretically, Rinrin could destroy the boat or toss the key into the ocean, but Yuki didn’t believe she would do anything like that. Typically, in games with “obstructors” who clashed with players, the path to victory would never be completely shut off. And since Rinrin had indicated this would mimic an actual game, she would follow accepted protocol—at least, Yuki certainly hoped so. In addition to the boat and key, there were various items stashed around the island. Yuki had found a katana right out of the gate. Since she had stumbled upon it without searching, the island was likely overflowing with items, just as Rinrin had indicated.

When Yuki first heard the rules, she instantly had a certain thought—

“This place is way too big…,” Yuki said while wandering the island with Tamamo.

The isle itself was not large. It would be possible to go around the entire perimeter if given a full day. But while the island was not vast in terms of area, it was enormous in terms of the number places someone could hide something. Boat aside, the key could be hidden anywhere: in a bush, underneath the floorboards of a house, on top of a utility pole, or even in the dirt. Searching for an item no more than three inches long on this island was no different from digging for a gold nugget in a desert.

“We don’t have any hints to go off, either,” Tamamo said, indicating her agreement with Yuki. “This is way too difficult.”

What was the point? Assuming this scenario was mimicking an actual game, victory should be attainable. Either the key was hidden in an easy-to-spot location, or hints to its hiding spot had to be scattered all over the island. Or perhaps it was a mistake to believe a reasonable strategy was possible in the first place. The purpose of this mock game was for Yuki to learn the fighting style of a blind player like Rinrin. It wouldn’t be strange if the rules were only meant as embellishments.

“Oh, wait a sec…,” Tamamo muttered. She pulled out her phone and fiddled with it. After she stared at the screen for several seconds, her face lit up. “I knew it.”

“What are you doing?” Yuki asked.

“Using Bluetooth.” Tamamo held up her phone to show Yuki. “I was thinking the items might be emitting radio waves. We’re searching for a smart key, after all.”

Yuki looked at the device. Tamamo had pulled up the Bluetooth settings screen, which typically was used to wirelessly connect electronics like earphones or laptops to peripheral devices. That function would even work on an uninhabited island without cellular service. Since Bluetooth allowed devices to interact directly with one another without needing to route through a base station, the availability of cellular service—or lack thereof—was irrelevant.

The information currently on the screen was quite curious. Since the island had no residents, there should have been no devices emitting radio waves, but the phone had detected several such connections.

From top to bottom, the list of available devices showed “Item 0037,” “Item 0024,” “Item 0118,” and “Item 0101.”

“Are these…referring to individual items?” Yuki asked.

“I believe so. They must have security tags or something similar attached to them.”

Yuki looked down at the katana she had picked up earlier. Upon closer inspection, she noticed a sticker on the sheath, which was likely the source of the signal.

Yuki had heard about security tags that could be paired with smartphones. You attached the tags to important objects like keys, and in the event that item got lost, you could use a phone to wirelessly activate an alarm or pinpoint the object’s location via a dedicated app. Of course, neither Yuki nor Tamamo had paired any devices or installed relevant apps, but it was apparently still possible for their phones to detect the radio waves of usable devices.

The items currently listed on Tamamo’s phone appeared to be nonessential, but it was likely that the boat and key they were searching for had tags as well. They could use the Bluetooth functionality of their phones to track down items as if by dowsing. That had to be the strategy for clearing this game.

“…Um, by the way,” Tamamo said, “besides the items, there’s also a device named Yuki’s Smartphone listed… This is your phone, right?”

“Huh?”

Yuki took a closer look at the screen. Indeed, Yuki’s Smartphone was present at the very bottom of the list of detected devices.

It was, obviously, Yuki’s cell phone. She hadn’t bothered to change her phone’s default name, and she wasn’t in the habit of turning off Bluetooth. If anyone in her vicinity was to ever open their Bluetooth settings screen, naturally they would see Yuki’s name listed.

“I don’t mean to be pushy, but you really should change the name of your phone. It could be unsafe as it is…”

“…………” Yuki felt a pang of embarrassment. She jested, “…If we survive this battle, I’ll do just that.”

The very next moment—

Tamamo’s phone detected another device: My Smartphone.

(12/28)

“…!”

Tamamo tapped the screen with the speed of a spinal reflex and turned off Bluetooth on her phone.

“Yuki, you too,” Tamamo said.

“Ah yeah…”

Yuki pulled out her phone. While unlocking the device, Yuki tried to wrap her head around the situation. My Smartphone had to be Rinrin’s phone. Which meant, like Yuki and Tamamo, Rinrin was also using her phone to proceed with the game. And since she had set its name as My Smartphone, she must have anticipated Yuki and Tamamo would detect the device. But how was that possible? After all, wasn’t Rinrin blind? How was she operating a phone? How was she able to search for items?

Yuki finally reached her phone’s Bluetooth settings. The exact moment her finger hovered over the button at the top of the screen—

Malice filled the air.

Moments later, multiple gunshots rang out.

Yuki and Tamamo immediately took cover. Curling up like a rabbit in winter, Yuki counted eight total gunshots. Combined with the four shots Rinrin had fired during her demonstration and the one she’d fired to signal the start of the game, that added up to thirteen. Evidently, that must have been the maximum capacity of the gun, as no more shots rang out. Yuki heard what sounded like Rinrin tossing away the now-empty firearm.

“—Seems that I missed.” The voice came from far away. “I must be rusty after all this time. It won’t be easy to hit you.”

The jingling of Rinrin’s bells gradually grew louder. Yuki stood up and glanced in the direction of the voice. Walking down the road toward her and Tamamo was the gentle-looking woman with bells hanging from both ears: Rinrin.

In her left hand was a smartphone. She tapped the screen.

“Oh?” she remarked. “Tamamo, you turned off your phone’s Bluetooth. Does that mean you’ve realized the trick behind this game? How impressive.”

Apparently, Rinrin could perceive the information on her phone’s screen.

“…I take it we’re supposed to use our phones for this game?” Yuki asked.

“Indeed,” Rinrin answered. “All the items on this island have been affixed with a tag that can be detected with Bluetooth. Some are hidden in areas where the signal may be difficult to pick up, but for the most part, they should pop up on your phone if you’re within several yards. The same applies to the items that will decide your fate: the boat and the smart key. They have been given special names that differ from those of other items, so if you see them on your device, try searching around that area… Oh, and there’s no need to worry about your phones running out of battery. There are portable chargers among the items, so please make use of them.

“However,” Rinrin continued, “like you, I will also be using my phone. To search for items, of course, but I may also use it to deduce your whereabouts, as I did just now. If you wish to take a break or ambush me, it would be wise to turn off Bluetooth.”

“Rinrin, you can use a phone?” Yuki asked, noticing an opportune moment in the conversation to pose the question.

“Yes,” she replied. “Modern smartphones are quite convenient. I need not be able to see to know what’s displayed on the screen.”

Rinrin tapped the screen. She had apparently set her device’s volume to max, as Yuki could hear the sounds from where she was. “Bluetooth.” “Nearby devices.” “Searching.” “Settings.” “Button.” A computerized voice uttered those words in rapid succession, reading out whatever text Rinrin had tapped.

“My phone has text-to-speech functionality built in. Although it takes somewhat more effort, operating a phone is no issue for me. You may find yourself needing this setting someday, so I suggest you make note of it.”

“…I’ll keep that in mind.”

Rinrin giggled. “By the way, are you not so technologically inclined, Yuki?”

The woman repeatedly tapped the screen. As soon as the synthesized voice echoed out, Yuki remembered that her own phone was still emitting Bluetooth signals. “Yuki’s Smartphone.” “Yuki’s Smartphone.” “Yuki’s Smartphone.” “Yuki’s Smartphone.” “Yuki’s Smartphone.” “Yuki’s Smartphone.”

“P-please stop.”

Yuki turned off her phone’s Bluetooth. Rinrin’s grin widened.

Then, without changing her expression, the woman pulled out a butterfly knife from her pocket.

“……!”

Yuki scrambled to put away her phone. Next, she grabbed the katana she had found earlier and unsheathed it. Yuki tossed aside the sheath, which clattered on the ground, but by that point, Rinrin had already finished opening her knife.

“It seems you found a weapon,” Rinrin said. “A long sword…or a katana, perhaps? I can tell by the sheath you discarded. Either way, your weapon certainly has a longer reach than mine.”

Just like before, the woman was once again analyzing the situation as if she could see. Yuki tightened her grip on the katana.

Yuki was wielding a sword, while her opponent had a knife. It was an ironclad principle of combat that longer weapons provided an advantage. In the current situation, however, Yuki did not sense she had the upper hand—for she felt insecure about holding a katana. In a past game themed like a period drama, she had been unable to adequately wield a katana, which ultimately resulted in all four of her limbs being sliced off. Ever since, the katana had ranked at the top of her list of weapons to avoid. Factoring in the vision loss in her right eye, she wanted to avoid a close-combat fight against a capable opponent at all costs.

Alas, her current opponent was not someone who would respect Yuki’s naive wish.

Rinrin walked closer and closer. One step. Followed by another. With every step she took, the bells on her ears would jingle. The jingling of bells, Rinrin’s footsteps, and Yuki’s own breathing—each time those three sounds repeated in a cycle, Yuki deepened her focus. Her mind swept away all irrelevant information. She lost the ability to sense the gradually darkening sky, the trees swaying in the wind, the stone walls lining both sides of the road—or even the presence of Tamamo, who was right beside her. Her whole world now only consisted of the space between her and Rinrin. From the moment Yuki had grabbed the katana, she had been envisioning the weapon’s range, now more so than ever. The moment Rinrin entered into that range and motioned to take another step—

It’s time, Yuki told herself.

She lunged forward. Taking advantage of her momentum, she attempted to swing the blade down from overhead.

However, Rinrin also stepped forward, as she had been watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

With just one little movement, Rinrin had reduced the distance between them, and Yuki knew this would reduce the effectiveness of her own swing. To make matters worse, Rinrin crouched down, held out her knife horizontally, and positioned her other hand perpendicularly against the blade of the knife, forming a cross shape. The woman’s intentions were clear—if Yuki continued with her attack and brought down the katana, Rinrin would bring the knife up against the katana’s handle. That would allow Rinrin to effortlessly stop Yuki’s attack and cut Yuki’s fingers.

Shoot, Yuki thought. Her body reacted, beginning with the parts closest to her brain. She pulled back her neck, tensed up her shoulders, and pushed off against the ground with her front foot to shift her center of gravity backward, but she did not cease her attack. Her katana traced a perfect arc in the air before colliding with the knife and making a pathetic clang. Because her swing had no weight behind it, Yuki was unable to overpower Rinrin, who was attempting to deflect the katana by slicing her knife sideways and forcing her way forward. However, since Yuki had predicted what her opponent would do, she retreated back even farther and lightly swung the katana, preventing Rinrin from coming deeper into her space.

They stood at the same distance as before.

“……”

Yuki exhaled deeply.

She suddenly felt exhausted. Although the interaction had only lasted several seconds, Yuki felt like she had been forced to use every inch of her body. She turned her attention back to her opponent, who was standing in front of her. Until the moment she realized that Rinrin’s eyes were both still shut, Yuki had completely forgotten she had just crossed blades with someone completely blind.

Rinrin balled up her empty hand into a fist before opening it again. It seemed that Yuki’s attack had inflicted some damage.

“Well done, Yuki,” Rinrin said.

Yuki lacked the mental leeway to respond with a “right back at you.”

“The odds appear to be against me. I suppose I will retreat for the time being.”

The woman turned around, showing her back to Yuki. While Yuki momentarily interpreted this to be careless, she immediately realized that line of criticism did not apply to Rinrin. After all, the woman could not see even if she was facing Yuki directly. For someone who perceived the world through sound, “backward” carried no more significance than the direction in which it was more difficult to move one’s arms and legs.

As she had just declared, Rinrin trudged away from the area, as if making a show of leaving.

While watching the woman from behind, Yuki assessed the situation. Should she give chase? If the odds were against Rinrin, that had to mean they were in Yuki’s favor. In which case, wouldn’t this be the prime opportunity to stake everything on a battle? Wouldn’t it be best to force the blind player to demonstrate more of her techniques here and now?

However, Yuki was unable to make up her mind. She lowered her katana and simply watched as Rinrin walked off.

“We should get going, too.”

Only when she heard Tamamo’s words did Yuki release the tension from her body.

(13/28)

Yuki and Tamamo explored the island until sunset. Pushing past their fears of being attacked by Rinrin, the girls used their phones to search for items, obtaining weapons that were easier to wield than a katana and food rations that included hardtack and water, along with several portable chargers.

They also made progress regarding the all-important conditions for victory: They located the boat. It was floating on the water, tied to a rock on the island’s coast. Just as Rinrin had explained, it was a model that would start with a smart key. The name of the ship came up on their phones as Ship 001. Based on that, they presumed the key would be named Key 001, but before Yuki and Tamamo could locate the second essential item, the sun disappeared beneath the horizon.

Night fell.

As a habitual night owl, Yuki was well acquainted with this time of day. But right now, however, the late hour instilled in her nothing but fear.

That was because she was facing an opponent who was even more comfortable with the darkness of night than her.

(14/28)

Besides their one brief encounter, Yuki and Tamamo did not run into Rinrin the rest of the day. There were several close calls where the device My Smartphone had appeared on their phones, followed by the jingling of bells, but they did not cross blades with the woman a second time.

Why? Part of the reason was that Yuki and Tamamo had elected to run away, but Rinrin hadn’t chased after them, either. Yet why hadn’t she done so? It was possible Rinrin still believed the odds were not in her favor, as she had previously stated. So then, what was she waiting for? What conditions would be ideal for her?

The answer was obvious: nighttime.

Rinrin was blind. The night was her time to shine. Since she was unable to see, the presence of light, or lack thereof, had no bearing on her actions. Meanwhile, even if Yuki was proud to call herself a longtime friend of the night, both Tamamo’s and her abilities would be greatly diminished in the dark compared to during the day. Rinrin must have been waiting for a situation where her prey would be weakened. That was the conclusion Yuki and Tamamo had reached while it had still been bright out.

As such, their most pressing concern was deciding how they should spend the night. Sleeping was out of the question. And since the darkness would reduce their situational awareness, continuing to explore would also be dangerous, as would be staying outside. That was why the two of them decided to wait inside one of the abandoned houses. Naturally, Rinrin would likely begin by searching buildings, but owing to the sheer number on the island, she would be unable to check them all before dawn. And since Yuki and Tamamo knew she was coming, they could set traps and lie in wait. Besides, neither of them had suitable clothing to shield them from the cold, so they had no desire to be somewhere that offered no shelter from the elements.

So Yuki and Tamamo ended up staying inside the house, waiting for dawn to break. Of course, they completely turned off their cell phones. The two of them wrapped themselves in a slightly stained blanket they had managed to find inside the house, thereby securing the bare minimum amount of warmth. While taking turns napping, they huddled in the cover of darkness.

“You cold?”

“I am, but I can handle it…”

Yuki and Tamamo spoke in hushed voices.

“Let’s search the west side of the island tomorrow. If we continue at the same pace as today, we should be able to finish exploring everywhere by noon.”

“Okay…”

Their search during the day had taken them around approximately half the island. Although the area was small enough to fully explore in a single day, because they had arrived in the afternoon, they had been unable to cover the whole thing before sunset. By Yuki’s calculations, if they departed at dawn, their search would wrap up before noon.

However, even if they finished searching the island, there was no guarantee they would find the key…

“By the way, how is your other objective coming along?” Tamamo asked. “Have you learned anything about Rinrin’s combat skills from your fight with her? Although, it feels like we won’t have a real clash with her for a while…”

Oh, right, Yuki thought. She had completely forgotten that had been the main purpose of her visit.

“About that…” Yuki had sensed various things from Rinrin, but she had yet to organize those feelings into words. After taking some time to piece it all together in her head, she said, “There’s one impression in particular I got from fighting her.”

“What is it?”

“Even though she’s blind, she doesn’t actually seem to be at a disadvantage.”

“…Really?”

“Yeah. She makes up for it with her sense of hearing, to a certain extent. It’s not like we can run up to her willy-nilly and beat her up. We’ll have to stay vigilant when we approach her and prepare for the possibility of a counterattack—just like when fighting someone who can see.”

Yuki continued, “The question is: How vigilant do we need to be? Honestly, I don’t have that figured out. I mean, there’s no possible way we can understand the mindset of someone who sees the world through sound. We have no clue how detailed her perception is or how much she can’t perceive. Obviously, I imagine her picture of the world is less precise than that of someone who can see, but it’s not clear how much less precise it is. That’s why it won’t be easy to gain the upper hand.”

At the very least, there was no doubt Rinrin was able to perceive quite a lot. During their earlier fight, Rinrin had foreseen the exact timing of Yuki swinging the katana, not to mention accurately positioned her knife to parry the attack. After experiencing that, Yuki had no choice but to treat Rinrin as someone with perfect vision.

“Besides, other senses are superior to sight in certain ways. For example, our brains only receive visual information from in front of us, but auditory information can come from all directions.”

At the end of their fight, Rinrin had turned her back to Yuki. That was proof that attacking the woman from behind would not work as an ambush.

“Overall, I’d say her other senses are more than sufficient to make up for what should be a disadvantage. Taking her down will be a challenge.”

“Do you see a way to win? Have you come up with a strategy against her?”

“At the moment, just one.” Yuki made a finger gun with her right hand. “If we can force her into a gunfight, we should have the upper hand. Earlier, she fired eight shots at us, but not one of them hit, remember? She played it off by claiming she was rusty with a gun, but I bet that’s her weakness. We’ll have good chances of coming out on top in a shootout.”

The greater the distance one was from the source, the weaker the sound. If Rinrin was far enough away, she would be unable to accurately gauge the position of her opponent. Surprisingly, that probably meant Rinrin was less suited to fighting at mid-to-long range than she was in close proximity.

“Makes sense,” Tamamo commented.

“There are other things that have me curious, too…”

“…? What do you mean?”

“Well, I can’t quite put my finger on it. Something just feels off about her…”

Yuki had felt that way ever since she had first met Rinrin. There was something strange about the current situation and the woman herself. Yuki had a hunch that solving that mystery would lead her to victory in this mock game, which was why she had constantly mulled over it throughout the day, but she had failed to make any headway.

During this conversation with Tamamo, too, Yuki had been unable to uncover the answer.

Just then, the sound of jingling echoed from outside the house.

(15/28)

The sound was not the cry of a bell cricket—Rinrin had arrived. It was far easier to tell at night. Although it wasn’t quite on Rinrin’s level, Yuki’s sense of hearing had also become heightened.

Yuki and Tamamo strained to listen. The jingling continued at a constant tempo, suggesting Rinrin was circling the house. She had to be searching for a way to enter.

After she completed a lap around the building, Rinrin’s bells fell quiet.

The next thing Yuki heard was the rattling of a sliding door.

Rinrin had entered from the veranda. Yuki and Tamamo left the warmth of the blanket and grabbed their firearms: an automatic handgun for Yuki and a revolver for Tamamo. As Rinrin would be out of her element in a shootout, the two of them had settled on using guns as their primary weapons, but also they were carrying as much other equipment as they could without sacrificing mobility.

There were two courses of action available to them: ambush Rinrin or flee. Yuki had shied away from engaging in combat during the day, but this time, she decided to go on the offensive. Although the darkness put her at a disadvantage, she would have the terrain advantage from being indoors. If Yuki’s suspicions were correct, the mock game would not end unless she defeated Rinrin. It was now or never. Yuki steeled herself.

“Get out of here while you still can,” Yuki instructed Tamamo. “Run far away from this house as quietly as possible. Let’s meet at the boat tomorrow morning.”

“Got it. I wish you the best of luck in battle.”

Tamamo gave a quick bow before leaving the room in the direction opposite the sound of bells. She tiptoed away so as to cloak her footsteps and presence.

With Tamamo gone, Yuki once again strained her ears. She could still hear the jingling of bells. The sound had grown louder, informing her Rinrin was inching closer and closer to the room.

Among the items Yuki and Tamamo had discovered was a trap kit. They had set up as many traps in the house as they could, including a crossbow trap, a bear trap, and trip wires. Rinrin would have to pass through several of them to reach the room from the veranda, but Yuki tempered her expectations. If measly traps were enough to take Rinrin down, this game would be no challenge.

Accordingly, Yuki was operating under the assumption she was going to have to fight against Rinrin, and she had a good idea as to what Rinrin would do to kick off the battle. There was one obvious choice for a blind player’s first move in an indoor fight. Although she had no concrete evidence, Yuki was confident in her theory. She fully trusted her instincts in these situations. Just as Rinrin had learned how to see the world through sound, Yuki had developed her cognition through building up a wealth of experience as a player.

That was why Yuki concealed herself behind a dresser when the sound of bells reached just outside the room. She covered her eyes with a pair of goggles she had found on the island and tightly pressed several layers of a folded blanket against her ears. Although Yuki was now almost completely deprived of her hearing, she knew from the vibrations she felt through the tatami mat that Rinrin had opened the sliding door and tossed something inside.

The next moment, a burst of light and sound filled the room.

(16/28)

Rinrin removed her earmuffs and charged into the room. As she ran, she flipped open her butterfly knife. She was already aware Yuki was inside and hiding behind the dresser. The flash grenade she had thrown should have discombobulated the girl, which meant that all she needed to do to finish the job was plunge her knife into Yuki’s vulnerable neck—

—At least, that was how it was supposed to go. Unfortunately, the malice she sensed from the interior forced her to alter her plans.

Rinrin returned to the hallway. The second after she took cover in a spot outside the line of fire from the room, she heard the sound of gunshots and bullets whizzing through the sliding door. If she had taken evasive maneuvers a moment later, her body would have been full of holes by now.

Rinrin giggled.

“Yuki, you’re awake, yes?” she asked.

After a brief pause—enough for a single breath—the reply came. “I figured you’d pull something like this, so I took the appropriate measures to defend myself.”

A shaking sensation came over Rinrin. One of the objects on her person was vibrating. She stuck her hand in her pocket to check which item was shaking.

It was a smart key.

Attached to it was a keychain of roughly the same size—the tag attached to items in this mock game. To be precise, it was the tag that was vibrating, which would only happen upon being paired with another device. Of course, Rinrin was well aware she had not activated the tag herself, which meant only one other person could be responsible.

“I knew it. You found the key,” Yuki said.

“Exactly.”

Rinrin had found the smart key hanging on a utility pole shortly before sunset. Destroying the key or tossing it into the ocean would undermine the very foundation of the game, but she saw no issue with taking the item and keeping it close.

“You cannot clear this game without defeating me.”

“…Guess so.”

Rinrin did not need sound to know Yuki had readied her gun.

Rinrin felt her heart race with excitement. She had been anticipating this situation from the moment she’d received the call from Kokone. She would lay all her cards on the table in a fight against a fresh player with a promising future, have all of her techniques readily stolen by the absorbent youngster, and then, in the end—

“Tamamo isn’t with you, yes?” Rinrin said, attempting a verbal strategy. “Could she be hiding inside the dresser? Or is she in a different room? What could you be planning? Hee-hee, I can’t wait to find out…”

“……? What are you going on about?” Yuki replied. “I sent her away a while ago.”

“…What?”

“This battle is mine and mine alone. It doesn’t involve her…and I can’t have her dying ’cause I got her mixed up in this.”

“…………”

Oh? Rinrin thought. That puts a damper on things. It seems she’s still not fully serious about the game. If this is how she’s going to play it, I have no choice but to take comparable measures on my end.

“You had Tamamo run away? Because you don’t want her to die?” Rinrin asked.

“…What’s strange about that?”

“How foolish of you, Yuki.” Rinrin snickered. “If you are afraid of her dying, then you must keep her by your side.”

Rinrin took out a second flash grenade and pulled the pin.

(17/28)

Yuki heard a second flash grenade land on the tatami mats.

Immediately, she took defensive measures. As if time was being rewound, she set down her gun, put on her goggles, and wrapped the blanket around her ears.

The next moment, an explosion of sound and a flash of light assaulted her senses.

It was over in a second. Yuki replaced the blanket in her hands with the gun and attempted to work out the situation outside the room.

However, Rinrin’s presence had disappeared.

“Wha…?!”

Yuki strained her ears. Her opponent’s footsteps were growing fainter and fainter, along with the jingling of her bells. But why was Rinrin heading farther away? What was she planning? Yuki was in this room—

She thought back to their conversation from seconds prior.

Rinrin had left to chase after Tamamo.

The realization spurred Yuki to dash from the room. Following Rinrin’s footsteps, Yuki sprinted down the hallway and out of the house. It was the dead of night, and she was on an island without a single streetlight. Although she had determined it would be risky to walk around in such conditions when up against a blind player, she set foot into the danger zone regardless.

She had no other choice.

Chasing after Rinrin’s footsteps, which had sounded from the yard, Yuki took stock of the situation. Was Rinrin seriously going after Tamamo? As a strategy, it was perfectly reasonable. With Yuki and Tamamo split up, the weaker link in the duo would be easier to pick off first. Moreover, attacking Tamamo, who was currently outdoors, would be far simpler a task than attacking Yuki, who had set up defenses inside a room. Plus, by targeting Tamamo, Rinrin had also forced Yuki outside to protect her protégée. Going after Yuki’s protegee was a sound strategy that brought multiple benefits.

Yet Yuki hadn’t expected Rinrin would actually do so. Somewhere deep down, Yuki was still treating this exercise differently from a genuine game. She had convinced herself Rinrin would simply not target Tamamo, as the girl had inadvertently gotten mixed up in this. At this point, however, Yuki knew Rinrin was 100 percent serious. This mock game was pure, unadulterated warfare.

As those thoughts streamed through her mind, Yuki descended a set of stairs that had been built near the road. It was a narrow structure, often seen next to roads in the countryside. She nimbly maneuvered down the steps and jumped the final few, landing on the road below.

Alas, Yuki realized her mistake far too late.

Gunshots rang out through the darkness.

Yuki immediately crouched down. This was the same situation in which she had found herself earlier that day. Rinrin, who perceived the world through sound, would be unable to accurately aim at a faraway opponent—

However, this time, the outcome was different.

Around half the consecutive shots hit their target. One pierced Yuki’s leg, causing her to fall to the ground.

“Gah—” Yuki desperately suppressed her urge to scream.

“You’re awfully kind, Yuki.” The voice came from the direction of the bullets.

The jingling of bells and the sound of footsteps continued. Soon, Rinrin’s silhouette appeared at a distance that was barely visible to Yuki’s naked eye.

“Unfortunately, that was your downfall. I can understand your concern for your protégée, but you should have taken more care to avoid making noise. You were so loud that anyone, not just me, would be able to pinpoint your location.”

Of course. That was when Yuki realized it. The moment the sound of her going down the stairs stopped, Rinrin would know she was at the bottom. Yuki’s position would be fixed at a single specific point. Although the direction of the sound would be insufficient information on its own, the nature of the sound gave away her location.

Rinrin had been waiting to hear a sound that would confirm Yuki’s exact position.

Had Rinrin chasing after Tamamo been a ruse to get Yuki to put herself at risk? Or would Rinrin actually have gone to kill Tamamo if Yuki hadn’t given chase? Regardless, the scenario was a win-win for Rinrin. Yuki had played right into her hands.

“What’s the matter?” Rinrin asked. “While this may be a game of combat, I suppose it would defeat the purpose if I go any further than this. Killing you would mean everything I prepared would be all for naught.”

The woman’s words offered a sliver of hope, but…

“However,” Rinrin continued, “I have half a mind to take your life here and now after this sorry showing. Besides, even if I let you live, you’ll meet the same fate sooner or later…”

Yuki felt a wave of hostility in the air.

“Very well. I suppose I’ll put you out of your misery.”

Dammit, Yuki thought. She’s not messing around.

Thanks to the Preservation Treatment, Yuki’s bleeding had stopped. She was still able to move, and it wouldn’t be impossible for her to wield a gun. However, she wouldn’t be able to handle recoil in her current position, which meant aiming would be difficult. Yuki no longer had an advantage, even if she did challenge Rinrin to a shootout.

I have no choice, Yuki thought. She held her firearm steady—

—when all of a sudden, a gunshot rang out from another direction.

(18/28)

For a second, Yuki freaked out, thinking she had been shot. Contrary to her distress, however, pain did not course through her body. It wasn’t that the bullet had missed—it was that it hadn’t been aimed at Yuki to begin with. Both the gunshot and the muzzle flash had originated from the grove adjacent to the road. Rinrin hadn’t been the one to fire.

Of course, Yuki hadn’t fired the shot, either. That meant there was only one possible shooter.

“Don’t move!” Tamamo’s voice echoed through the darkness. “Throw away your gun! Leave this place at once!”

Do you want her to move or not? Yuki thought. Tamamo must not have been used to this kind of situation. Still, Yuki knew what the girl was trying to do and felt grateful; Tamamo had come rushing to Yuki’s aid, likely after hearing the earlier gunshots.

Rinrin’s shadow stirred in the darkness, suggesting the woman was readying her gun. However, she did not fire. It appeared that she was unable to pin down Tamamo’s exact location. When faced with the same situation in the daytime, Rinrin had not hesitated to unleash a barrage of bullets. Now that it was dark, however, it would be dangerous for her to do the same, as the bright flash of her gun firing would expose her location.

Finally, the shadow in front of Yuki disappeared. Rinrin had left.

“…Yuki!”

Tamamo called out Yuki’s name, apparently having sensed Rinrin’s departure as well. Yuki heard the girl’s footsteps rush toward her, but—

“Stay back!” Yuki shouted, straining her voice. “I’ll come to you…”

Yuki began crawling toward Tamamo’s presumed location, where she had seen the muzzle flash. She had stopped Tamamo not out of her pride as a mentor but rather out of wariness of Rinrin. It was more than possible the woman was simply holding her breath and hiding nearby.

Yuki crawled over the stone wall and entered the grove. Her injured leg cried out in pain, but she pushed ahead while propping herself up against trees and soon reunited with Tamamo. Once the girl saw Yuki up close, she took notice of her mentor’s injury.

“…How is your wound?” Tamamo asked.

“It’s not stopping me from moving, at least…,” Yuki answered.

Leaning on Tamamo’s shoulder, Yuki continued to move. The two of them left the grove, walked down a road, and retreated as far as they could. Her senses sharpened by the pain, Yuki scanned her surroundings, but she detected no signs of Rinrin or the jingling of her bells. It seemed the woman had retreated for the time being. Since Yuki and Tamamo had been careful to avoid making obtrusive noises, Rinrin would have a hard time launching another attack.

Yuki glanced at Tamamo. Since Yuki was leaning on the girl’s shoulder, she could only see Tamamo’s side profile, which was just as adorable as her front. Coming to her rescue had been well worth it. Although, putting it like that was not entirely accurate, since Yuki was the one who’d been rescued in the end. At the very least, however, it was true Yuki had rushed out of the house out of worry for the girl’s safety. It hadn’t been long since she had taken Tamamo under her wing, but Yuki was surprised at how much she already valued her protégée.

—At how much she unwittingly valued her protégée.

Don’t lose yourself now, Yuki reminded herself. This was not a real game, despite how everything about the situation clearly resembled one. Because of that, Yuki hadn’t been able to truly act like a player. If this had been a real game, for instance, she would’ve also had the option to abandon Tamamo, but she couldn’t do so at present.

“You’re awfully kind, Yuki.”

Rinrin’s words echoed in Yuki’s mind.

The woman was absolutely right. Setting aside the matter of Tamamo, Yuki agreed she was pulling her punches in this game. This wasn’t how an eager learner behaved. If she truly wanted to acquire the techniques of the blind player, she would need to take things more seriously.

Rinrin had mentioned being prepared for the possibility of losing her life. That meant Yuki should also approach the rest of the game with similar resolve—

“…Huh?”

Suddenly, Yuki felt a lightbulb go off in her head.

All the pieces connected. Certain parts of her brain—Yuki didn’t know if they were synapses or neurons—fired in succession. She finally realized exactly what had been puzzling her since she had landed on the island, the mystery that had been nagging at her constantly.

Yuki immediately put her thoughts into words. “I’m curious—why did Rinrin retire?”

“Huh?” Tamamo looked straight at Yuki.

“She used to be a player, right? But she isn’t active right now. I was just wondering why she quit…”

“Probably because of…her vision…”

Tamamo cut herself off. She seemed to realize the oddity as well.

Exactly— Rinrin’s blindness could not possibly be the reason for her withdrawing from the games. Yuki had automatically linked Rinrin’s vision loss to her retirement without giving it much thought, but upon further reflection, Rinrin had, in fact, continued as a player even after losing her eyesight. Her reason for leaving the industry lay elsewhere.

“She doesn’t seem like someone who would call it quits without a truly compelling reason,” Yuki said.

Just like Hitomi, Kirihara, and Yuki’s mentor, Hakushi, retired players were not a rare breed. Some were forced into retirement due to an injury, while others got cold feet when coming face-to-face with the Wall of Thirty. In fact, those like Yuki who resolved to continue playing until their deaths were a far greater minority. Even in a world as unhinged as this, such players were exceptionally deranged.

Based on what Yuki had observed, Rinrin was clearly someone who belonged to that group of diehards. A player to the bone. The very archetype of someone who would forge on until death. Since she had continued playing even after losing her vision, it seemed unthinkable she would retire due to anything less than extraordinary circumstances.

Yet in reality, Rinrin had indeed left the games. She was flaunting her body that had escaped death to Yuki and Tamamo.

What did this mean? What on earth could have happened to her?

“…Don’t tell me…,” Yuki muttered.

A certain theory clicked in her mind.

(19/28)

An abandoned house stood on the outskirts of the island.

Inside, a supplier was standing at the ready.

(20/28)

The man worked as a supplier. He belonged to an adjacent industry to the world of death games, which made a spectacle out of the misery of girls. Like prosthetic craftsmen and the tattoo artist Kirihara, he was someone who made a living going after players’ wallets.

As the name of his occupation suggested, his job was to supply items that were requested of him. His selling point was he would procure just about anything, ranging from out-of-season fruits to new family registers, but considering his line of work, he was more frequently asked for illegal items. In this instance, his client was a former player by the name of Rinrin, who also happened to be his longtime acquaintance. She had asked him to find a remote island and scatter a number of items around it, all for the sake of carrying out a mock game. On top of that, Rinrin had asked him to assist her as a collaborator.

For that reason, the supplier was currently on the island, the venue of the mock game.

He was sitting on a tatami mat in an abandoned house on the island’s outskirts. The room was dim. The lights were off, and very little light entered through the slightly open sliding door, as the sun had yet to rise. Yet the supplier himself was lit up—by the monitor in front of him.

The monitor displayed footage of the island in real time, as transmitted by a live camera. Since dawn had yet to break, a typical video feed would appear dark, but because the camera was set to night-vision mode, the footage looked as though it was the middle of the day. Two antennae stuck out of the top of the monitor. The setup allowed him to connect to the camera wirelessly, without the need for an internet connection.

At this very moment, there was movement on the video feed—because the camera itself was on the move. It was camouflaged and attached to a button on Rinrin’s clothes, constantly broadcasting what Rinrin was seeing—or rather, what Rinrin would be seeing if she had working vision. The device’s small size made it unrecognizable unless observed from up close, and it would be hard for anyone to even suspect the existence of a camera in the first place. After all, one wouldn’t suspect a blind person of using a device so intrinsically linked to vision.

A surveillance camera, and an “audience” viewing footage through it. Those were part and parcel of death games, but in this mock game, they served a different purpose. Everything that was needed to pull off the bluff Rinrin had in mind—to support the big lie she was making—was here in this room, including the supplier himself.

The blind player, Rinrin…

Who would ever think it?

That she lacked not only sight but also hearing.

(21/28)

Strictly speaking, Rinrin was not completely deaf. If she were, this big lie would not have been possible in the first place. While she could not hear anything with her left ear, her right ear was still somewhat functional when paired with a hearing aid. However, she no longer possessed the ability to perceive her surroundings using echolocation—the indispensable skill she had used to thrive as a player.

Rinrin had lost her hearing a year or so after her eyesight, right around the time she had started making a name for herself as a blind player. At that point, her status as a player was revoked. That was the obvious outcome. What point was there in inviting a blind and deaf person to participate in death games? Even the organizers, who led an inhumane organization, apparently had enough common sense to recognize that. Although it seemed Rinrin herself wished to continue as a player, the organizers no longer permitted her participation. And so Rinrin was deprived of not only her sight and hearing, but also her calling as a player.

Due to her circumstances, Rinrin was currently perceiving the world through a completely different method from when she had been active as a player. Specifically, the small camera hidden on her button was transmitting visual information of the scene in front of her to the supplier, who would then relay detailed directions to Rinrin via a transceiver in her inner pocket. The transceiver was wirelessly linked to an earphone with hearing aid functionality in Rinrin’s right ear, allowing her to hear the supplier’s instructions. Although she was still processing sounds, she was not hearing echoes but words. She was perceiving the world through verbal information, as if reading a novel.

Actually, “perceiving” was perhaps a generous way of referring to it. Compared to directly seeing and hearing things, receiving information by word of mouth was tremendously inconvenient. In reality, there had already been plenty of close calls where things could have ended at any moment. Although the hearing aid was well hidden underneath Rinrin’s hair, when the woman had crossed blades with Yuki the previous day, the supplier was only able to inform Rinrin of the girl’s weapon and of the rough distance between them. Rinrin walking away after the clash with her back turned had been a complete bluff. Yuki could have easily defeated Rinrin had she attacked the woman from behind. As for their second clash in the middle of the night, Rinrin had evaded the traps in the house almost entirely on instinct, and her chasing after Tamamo had been a complete lie as well. It was nothing short of a miracle that she had been able to dash that far without tripping over or running into anything. Rinrin was making up for the dearth of information available to her with the intuition and daredevil courage she had developed as a player. That was the truth behind this self-proclaimed “blind player.”

In other words, it was all an illusion.

Of course, this big lie was not born from ill intentions. If there was any truth to be found in Rinrin’s actions, it was that she was genuinely hoping to convey her techniques to Yuki. While simulating her skills from her player days, Rinrin was demonstrating the art of bluffing, an essential skill for a player with a handicap. She was no doubt taking things seriously.

She was, quite literally, staking her life on this.

The supplier had been shocked when Rinrin approached him with a contract after a long period of silence. Her retirement from the games had turned her into a husk of her former self, yet it sounded as if she had returned to her old, cheerful ways. Based on what she had told him, it seemed that Rinrin had been asked to teach her techniques to Yuki, a player who shared a similar visual impairment. Although the two of them had yet to meet, Rinrin was already expressing strong empathy for Yuki. She enthusiastically explained she wanted the supplier’s help because she hoped to go through with the request without making compromises.

The supplier got the sense Rinrin intended to die.

Passing down all of herself to the next generation and being killed in the process—that was the one and only hope she could cling to.

It was a regular occurrence in the world of death games. There was nothing strange about it. It would be a loss to the world if the techniques of a longtime survivor ceased to be passed on, especially those of someone with rare skills like Rinrin. A former player like her would almost certainly not hesitate to gladly give up her life.

Still, the supplier sensed something off. Even if that was a source of hope for her, was it not a strange kind of hope? Was it not akin to the kind of hope felt by, say, a slave who could no longer endure tortuous forced labor throwing caution to the wind and charging into a group of armed guards? Was it not the kind of hope designed to make one feel satisfied with oneself? Was it not the kind of hope that lay one step away from self-destruction?

Although the supplier had objections, in the end, he did not stop Rinrin. In accordance with her wishes, he prepared the venue and agreed to assist her.

“…How is this going to end…?” the supplier muttered.

All of a sudden, the front door rattled open.

Someone had entered the house. The intruder walked down the hallway while making a ruckus, moving aside the sliding doors along the way. They did the same with the entrance to the room the supplier was in. The sliding door flew open with such great force that it bounced back around 20 percent of the distance after slamming against the wall.

Standing on the other side—was not Rinrin.

(22/28)

Rinrin ran into a stone wall.

(23/28)

“Whoops…”

Rinrin fell forward and grabbed the wall to support herself.

She must have run into a corner. That would sometimes happen to her while walking, since she could neither hear echoes nor see in front of her.

What’s going on? Rinrin thought. She would expect the supplier to give her directions before something like this happened. Was the camera broken? Or had he passed out from exhaustion? The supplier had been guiding Rinrin around throughout the night, so that would be perfectly understandable. While players like Rinrin were no strangers to pulling all-nighters, the supplier was an ordinary civilian. It wouldn’t be odd if he had fallen asleep.

I suppose I’ll wake him up, Rinrin thought. She pulled out her transceiver. Of course, the device was not simply meant for receiving instructions; it was capable of two-way communication.

“Hello?” Rinrin said, calling out to the supplier.

However, there was no reply.

“Hey, are you really asleep…?”

Her second attempt also elicited no response.

If I must…, Rinrin thought. She decided to head directly to the house where the supplier was.

Rinrin put away her transceiver and took out a baton. When extended to its maximum reach, it became a two-foot-long metal rod. She had been carrying it around to use not as a weapon but as a guide cane in case the need arose. It was ever so slightly, yet noticeably, shorter than a typical cane, and even though she was dissatisfied with its length, she started walking while tapping the ground.

Thankfully, she knew she was near the house in question. Rinrin had arrived on the island two days ago to commit most of its geography to memory, and she had constantly kept track of her location as she moved around. Even without directions from the supplier, she was perfectly capable of navigating by herself—as long as she didn’t care about time or appearances.

Ten or so minutes later, Rinrin arrived in front of the house. She climbed over the stone wall, crossed the yard, and came to the main entrance. She reached out for the handle of the door—

—but all she grabbed was air.

The door was already open.

“…………”

Her intuition went to work. After taking a breath, she spoke up.

“…You’re there, aren’t you, Yuki?”

Footsteps came from behind her.

(24/28)

After reaching an answer to the mystery of Rinrin’s retirement, Yuki and Tamamo had resumed their exploration of the island. If that person existed, they must be somewhere here.

Despite being totally blind, Rinrin had continued to play in the games by relying on her sense of hearing, so it followed her retirement must have come about as a result of hearing loss. Additionally, Rinrin had been moving as though she could hear, so Yuki deduced the woman must be working with a collaborator who was secretly feeding her instructions. And because the island had no cellular service, Yuki concluded the collaborator had to be here somewhere, leading her and Tamamo to search all the houses one after another.

The two of them were able to locate the supplier and steal the transceiver before the break of dawn. At that point, they could have informed Rinrin of what they had done, but instead they decided to wait. Although the supplier had explained the woman’s circumstances to them in detail, Yuki wanted to confirm the truth with her own eyes.

The moment Rinrin appeared, using a baton as a guide cane, Yuki was at a loss for words. Rinrin walked straight up to the house, failing to notice Yuki had been sitting on the stone wall out front. There was no denying the truth. Rinrin was actually…

“…Good morning, Rinrin,” Yuki said.

“Good morning.”

“So you have hearing loss, too, huh?”

“Yes,” Rinrin admitted.

The woman lifted up the hair over her right ear and turned her head to the left, revealing an earphone that rested inside her ear canal—her hearing aid.

“Have you already met the man inside?” Rinrin asked, returning her head and hair to their original positions.

“Yes. He told us everything.”

Everything—including the progression of Rinrin’s hearing loss, the tricks she used to compensate for her impairments, and her state of mind.

“Is this why you came up with the game mechanic of searching for items with wireless signals? If we could tell where items were from outside, we wouldn’t need to search any houses. We’d have no way of stumbling upon your collaborator if we went about the game normally.”

“Yes, that’s true. Although this was his idea, not mine.”

“…So you were pretending this whole time.”

The only response Rinrin offered was a smile. A player’s expression through and through.

“Are you going to call me dirty?” Rinrin asked.

“No way.” Yuki would likely have struggled even more against someone who could actually hear. “You mentioned yesterday how ‘bluffing is no less important a technique.’ I understand exactly what you mean now. The point is to blind your opponents to your own vision loss…”

“That’s a good way of putting it,” Rinrin replied. “In this case, I was pretending to be able to hear, but the essence is the same, be it with sight or hearing. The trick is to complicate things by piling on both truth and lies.”

“Good to know.”

“By the way, you seem to be speaking with an air of finality. Could you not act like this game is over?”

The woman’s remark came as a surprise to Yuki.

“…You’re still gonna keep going?” Yuki asked.

“Of course. This game won’t end until you steal the key from me.”

Rinrin tossed aside her baton—and pulled out a gun.

“Tamamo is keeping the supplier in check,” Yuki said. “You won’t be receiving any directions from him. You have no chance of winning.”

“So what? That’s no reason to quit.”

“I’ve learned plenty enough already. It’s pointless to keep going.”

“He told you everything, didn’t he? Then you should know what you have to do.”

“I have no intention of killing you.”

“How selfish of you.” Rinrin took a step forward. “You come here to take and take from me, and you refuse to grant my wish.”

“…No, but… I didn’t sign up for that!”

“Why do you hesitate? This should be no big deal to a player of your caliber.”

“There’s no point to this.”

“No point? What does that matter? As if you’re someone who cares when you die…”

“When I go out, I want it to be the result of putting my best foot forward. I won’t just accept any old death! There’s no way I’m helping you commit suicide!”

Only after those words left her mouth did Yuki realize she had gone a step too far. However, Rinrin did not criticize Yuki’s careless remark. She simply smiled faintly. While maintaining that expression, Rinrin gave her response.

“I no longer even have a right to put my best foot forward.” Rinrin pulled out the smart key from her pocket. “If you insist on not going along…perhaps this will force your hand.”

Rinrin lifted up the key—the lynchpin of this game and the only way to escape the island. She held it above her face—

—and opened her mouth wide.

“……!”

Yuki’s instincts took hold.

(25/28)

Yuki moved so fluidly that she even impressed herself.

Almost entirely subconsciously, Yuki drew her gun, disengaged the safety, and aimed the muzzle at Rinrin. Two bullets flew through the air in the blink of an eye. One hit Rinrin’s right wrist, while the other struck her right hand. With Rinrin deprived of her grip strength, the smart key fell to the ground.

Drops of fresh blood spattered through the air.

“……”

The sight snapped Yuki back to her senses.

A long time had passed since Rinrin had left the world of death games, so she was no longer under the effects of the Preservation Treatment. Her blood did not transform into white fluff, and the bleeding did not stop on its own. Red fluid continued to flow from her wounds.

Rinrin applied pressure to her right hand. Even now, her smile did not falter.

“Your aura became quite cold for a second there, Yuki. That’s the way…”

Yuki did not reply. She kept her gun trained on Rinrin.

Yuki had suffered an injury to her leg during their encounter the previous night, which made it difficult for her to walk. This meant she wouldn’t be able to take advantage of Rinrin’s blindness by dashing forward to scoop up the key and running away. Ideally, Yuki would first incapacitate Rinrin before walking over to pick up the key at her own pace.

However, the sight of fresh blood dampened Yuki’s resolve. Rinrin’s body lacked the protection of the Preservation Treatment, so shooting her too many times might actually kill her. Even though Yuki’s line of work gave her an intimate view of life and death, surprisingly, she did not know what constituted a fatal wound for an ordinary person. How far could she take this?

As Yuki hesitated, Rinrin sprang into action. With her uninjured left hand, she raised her gun at Yuki.

Somehow, she stopped the gun when it was aimed right at Yuki’s head.

At roughly the exact moment a gunshot rang out, Yuki hid behind the stone wall. She looked down at her body—the shot hadn’t connected. The only bullet wound on her was the one she had sustained the previous day. However, the shot would have blown her brains out had she not crouched down.

As Yuki took cover behind the stone wall, she heard a pair of footsteps. Rinrin was approaching. The woman seemed to be carefully taking one step at a time, probably because she could no longer use her baton cane with her injured hand.

Yuki moved silently. She climbed over the stone wall and landed in the yard. She had made no noise, as far as she could tell. At the very least, Rinrin did not fire at her. Yuki moved in unison with Rinrin’s footsteps and attempted to draw closer to the woman from behind.

For a second, Yuki’s eyes fell on her own gun, which brought back a memory from long ago.

Yuki flipped the weapon around, holding it not by its grip but by its barrel.

Almost as if having waited for Yuki to complete her preparations, Rinrin turned around. The woman had most likely noticed Yuki approaching from behind much earlier and was waiting for the girl to get in shooting range.

Rinrin aimed her firearm at Yuki. She pointed the muzzle at a downward angle, accounting for Yuki’s lower posture that resulted from her injured leg.

Grateful for the woman’s accurate aim, Yuki leaped up like a cat.

She could practically see her own face reflected on the bullet that flew out of the gun.

Because Yuki had leaped forward, the bullet passed right behind her, missing by a hair. There was no second shot. Yuki had gotten close enough to grab Rinrin’s left arm. While forcing the muzzle of Rinrin’s gun to point in a completely wrong direction, Yuki swung her other hand—the one holding a gun—down onto the woman’s head.

Rinrin flashed a smile. “—That’s dirty.”

“Say what you want.”

Although only a second passed in real time, they did indeed have that exchange.

A dull sound that barely produced an echo filled the air.

(26/28)

It was still fresh in Rinrin’s mind, the memory of the day she was stripped of her status as a player.

She had damaged her hearing in an incident from a certain game. Since she had already lost her vision and was mainly relying on echoes for sensory information, going deaf was a fatal blow. Despite that, she intended to keep playing, but her agent refused to entertain her wish. Not only that, but they also revoked her status as a player, effectively exiling her from the world of the games.

“—How dare you do this?”

Obviously, Rinrin demanded an explanation from her agent.

She grabbed her agent by the chest and slammed them against the wall. A peaceful resolution seemed utterly inconceivable.

“How dare you do this without so much as asking me…?”

“What do you have to complain about? This was the logical decision.” Her agent responded in a firm tone, despite being on the receiving end of Rinrin’s intimidation tactics. “I agreed to let you keep going when it was only blindness you had to overcome, but I will not be persuaded this time. You will retire from the games. Continuing to play in this state is nothing more than an act of suicide.”

“So what? I gave up my attachment to life the moment I became a player.”

Even after Rinrin expressed her resolve, her agent shook their head.

That was why Rinrin resorted to a method of negotiation befitting a player—threatening to hurt her agent if they barred her from participating in games. Her agent was well aware of her personality, so they had to know her words were by no means empty.

However, once again, her agent shook their head.

“I urge you to find another way to live,” they said.

There’s no other way, Rinrin thought. There’s nowhere I belong outside of this world.

Ever since that day, Rinrin had felt like a puppet with its strings cut. The feeling of her world crumbling beneath her feet. The feeling of lacking anything that defined her as a person. The feeling of merely existing and nothing more. Even though she had now been given the opportunity to live a long life, nothing mattered to her anymore.

Yet she was disinclined to take her own life. Although she did not fear death, she couldn’t bear the thought of having everything she had accomplished be for naught. She wanted someone to acknowledge her. She wanted a connection to something, somewhere.

And this was the opportunity that landed on Rinrin’s doorstep.

This has to be it, she thought. Like Rinrin, Yuki was a player who was visually impaired. Rinrin was going to pass on her techniques to Yuki and be killed in the process—

That was what Rinrin had planned.

Evidently, however, her plan would not be allowed to come to fruition just yet.

(27/28)

Yuki carried the unconscious Rinrin into the house and grabbed the smart key. She then took Tamamo and the supplier to the craggy coast where the boat was. Yuki had worried the key had gotten damaged when she shot Rinrin’s hand, but relief came over her when the boat powered on without issue.

The supplier ended up driving the boat. Yuki and Tamamo had the man test it out by moving it to the pier, and as this happened, the two of them returned to the house where they had first met Rinrin. There, they gathered up the bags they had brought with them before heading to the pier.

When they arrived—they found Rinrin, awake and waiting for them.

“Wha…?!”

Yuki and Tamamo adopted fighting stances. Rinrin, however, gave them a smile that exuded no hostility.

“Calm down. I will no longer torment you.”

“…If you say so.”

Apparently, the woman was satisfied with how things had concluded. Maybe the grip of the gun hit her in just the right place, Yuki thought.

“I came to see you off,” Rinrin said.

“See us off? You aren’t coming with us?”

Yuki glanced at the boat. It was plenty large enough to carry Yuki, Tamamo, the supplier, and Rinrin.

“I wish to maintain the appearance of the game,” Rinrin replied. “It would spoil the fun if I were to leave on the same boat as you, no? I will have the supplier come back for me after sending you two off.”

Makes sense, Yuki thought.

After loading their bags onto the boat, Yuki and Tamamo boarded the vessel themselves.

“Thank you for everything, Rinrin,” Yuki said, offering her farewell.

“You’re very welcome… So how was it? Did you learn how to fight without relying on sight?”

“Yeah, I think I have the right idea. If I run into any trouble, can I pay you another visit?”

“Feel free. I welcome a fight anytime.”

“…If possible, I’d prefer to just talk.”

The boat began to move. The island, and Rinrin waving goodbye on the pier, soon faded from view.

“…She sure was ruthless…,” Tamamo said once Rinrin was no longer visible.

“You said it…,” Yuki agreed. “By the way, Tamamo…”

“Yes?”

“About lesson two and beyond…”

Tamamo looked scared, the girl likely recalling the harrowing experience that had taken place over the past two days.

“…Don’t worry, I won’t be as violent with teaching you,” Yuki assured.

(28/28)

(0/48)

—Shortly after Yuki took on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation.

“What do you think is the one thing that’s absolutely essential for becoming a top player?” Yuki asked. She had posed that question to Tamamo as the launchpad for lesson two: learning the skills to survive as a player. “In other words, the attribute shared by all long-lasting players. The essential element that separates amateurs from experts. Any idea?”

Tamamo paused for a moment to think. “Would it be physical strength? I imagine big, brawny players have an advantage in games.”

Yuki shook her head. “Not necessarily. Having a large body works against you in certain situations, like if you need to walk across a balance beam or crawl through cramped tunnels. Sure, there are plenty of cases where combat ability makes a huge difference, but strength isn’t everything. You can’t say it’s essential for becoming a top player.”

“…I see.” After some more thought, Tamamo said, “Then how about the ability to detect danger? For instance, being able to deduce the presence of traps or instantly recognize malice from other players. Since our lives are on the line, players who prioritize circumventing risk must have an edge.”

That was true. In fact, Yuki herself had said in a past game that cowardice was the key to survival. It was a practical mantra for beginners to adhere to, but—

“Those kinds of players tend to die out in the long run. You won’t build up experience if you simply coast through games by avoiding danger. The moment you find yourself trapped in a situation with no escape, you’re out of luck. Players in that category tend to participate in fewer games, and they certainly don’t level up into top players.”

While there were exceptions like Koyomi, that woman was truly one in a million.

“…Hmm…” Tamamo pursed her lips into a slight pout—another adorable expression for Yuki to admire. “In that case…what about finding a mentor? Players who build strong relationships with capable players surely have an edge, right? I remember you mentioning how it’s important to absorb the wisdom of more experienced players.”

In a world where a single failure could lead to one’s doom, players had plenty of motivation to learn from seasoned pros. That was precisely why countless mentor-protégée relationships had blossomed among players and why Yuki and Tamamo were currently having this conversation.

However, that answer made Yuki smile. “Actually, that’s the worst thing you could do. Being eager to learn under someone else means you’re not trying to think for yourself. I can’t believe some players would choose to abandon all responsibility, even though it’s their life on the line. People who fixate on learning from others go down quickly.”

Tamamo—who was currently learning from Yuki—puffed out her cheeks. It was the first time Yuki had ever seen someone do that in real life.

“That’s not funny, Yuki.”

“Sorry…,” Yuki said, offering an empty apology. “Okay, I admit, a willingness to acquire knowledge and skills is important. But what I wanted to get across is that the perfect player doesn’t exist. Excelling in one area means struggling in another. And there are all sorts of different games, too. A disposition that puts you at an advantage in one game could very well work against you in the next. While there are general patterns in the kinds of players who have an easier time surviving, they aren’t cut-and-dried. There are no absolutes.”

Yuki continued, “That’s the kind of world we’re trying to thrive in. With no certainties to rely on, we risk our lives on choices made on shaky premises. While that’s the case in any industry, it’s especially true in ours. Don’t forget that.”

(1/48)

Crisis Shuttle was nearing its end.

(2/48)

A robot was attacking a player.

The machine was made primarily from tin and was so stereotypical that you wouldn’t even find it in modern manga. Although its form was modeled on a human being, its head and body were squarish, various gauges were fluctuating wildly on its chest, and antennae were rotating on its head. Its two arms—each with only two appendages, of course—stuck out of the left and right sides of its body, holding a hammer and saw respectively.

The robot was going up against a player who had the appearance of a phantom—Yuki. She was grappling with the machine, her hands on the handles of both weapons. Her outfit rivaled the robot’s design in gaudiness, consisting of a ridiculously oversize headset, a top that clung to her skin, a skirt with a streamlined fit, and cyberpunk boots. Every piece of her outfit was glowing in various spots, giving it a cybernetic look. It was an android girl costume—and quite the provocative one at that.

Yuki thrust out her leg and kicked the robot away. Then she retreated, sprinting down a futuristic hallway.

She was on board a spacecraft. The objective of this game, Crisis Shuttle, was to locate emergency escape pods and exit the ship while fleeing from out-of-control killer robots. Of course, Yuki was not actually in outer space; the venue had simply been decorated to appear that way. The killer robots, on the other hand, were real, wandering about the enclosed space. Yuki had fought a number of them already, and her android costume had gotten damaged in several places.

Yuki had already made significant progress in the game. She knew the location of the escape pods, along with the code to unlock the door to the room where they were housed. All that was left was to head there herself.

“Gah!”

Yuki hit her head on a corner of the hallway.

Foolish mistakes were easy to make when one was rushing. She quickly shook it off and went back to running down the passageway, repeating the same blunder several times along the way. Eventually, after turning three corners and traversing a flight of stairs, she came upon a door with a keypad. Covering her right eye with one hand, Yuki pressed buttons with her free hand to input the passcode.

As she was doing so, a robot appeared from the corner of her eye.

It had caught up to her and was now at the end of the hallway. Since Yuki had been practically falling over herself during her escape, she had failed to open up much distance between her and the machine. Although the robot was not yet within reach, time was of the essence. Yuki frantically punched in the numbers from memory. Fortunately, she finished inputting the passcode before her metal foe could attack. The door automatically began to slide open, and Yuki slipped through the gap without waiting for it to open all the way.

Upon looking behind herself, however, Yuki realized her job was not over—for the robot had appeared on the other side of the door, now fully open. Although the door was beginning to shut, the robot was advancing at a far greater speed and would be able to enter the room. As she had done earlier, Yuki attempted to kick the robot away—

—but it struck her outstretched leg with the hammer.

“……!!”

Yuki gritted her teeth. Despite her injury, she managed to kick the robot and push it back with her broken leg. The hammer struck her a second time, followed by a third, but she continued to fight off the machine until the door could completely shut. Finally, with a clunk, the room Yuki was in became sealed off from the hallway. She looked down at the leg she yanked back inside. It was terribly swollen, appearing as if there was a rugby ball embedded under her skin.

With that, Yuki’s fifty-sixth game came to an end.

(3/48)

Yuki awoke inside her apartment.

(4/48)

After completing her post-game routine—offering a prayer and reflecting on the events of her most recent competition—Yuki looked down at her pillow. Her android costume had been folded up next to it, so she opened the door to her closet to put it away.

Her closet was packed to the brim.

Costumes lined the interior from one end to the other. It was already at maximum capacity—beyond maximum capacity, in fact. This had been a recurring problem as of late. Inside were over fifty game outfits; combined with her everyday wear, this added up to over sixty articles of clothing in total. There was not enough space to hang them all up on the rack, so she had folded up a number of garments and placed them on the floor. Seeing her game costumes stored in two different ways felt somewhat bizarre to her.

“…I need more storage space…,” Yuki muttered, adding her android outfit to the pile on the floor.

She then went out for a walk. It was the middle of the night. Idly browsing her phone, she racked her brain over what to do for storage. Should she buy another closet? No, that wouldn’t be smart; she wanted to avoid saddling her tiny studio apartment with more furniture. What about renting a self-storage unit? That wouldn’t be a great idea, either. It would prevent her from taking out her outfits whenever she wanted, and leaving game-related items outside her residence was a big no-no. Then what about moving to a slightly bigger place?

As Yuki was pondering the matter, she abruptly felt the sensation of an insect crawling on her neck.

“?????!!”

Yuki leaped into the air. Taking a few hops forward, she turned around and got a good look at the culprit.

It was Tamamo.

“Hee-hee!” After a short laugh, Tamamo said, “Good to see you again, Yuki.”

She put her fingers together—presumably the true identity of the insect—and bowed.

“…Long time no see,” Yuki replied, rubbing her neck.

“Congratulations on clearing your fifty-sixth game.”

“Huh? You know about that?”

“Yes, your agent called me. After hearing that you returned home safe and sound, I decided to stop by for a visit.”

“…Right.”

She’s been making all sorts of connections behind my back, huh? Yuki thought.

(5/48)

Indeed, Yuki had just cleared her fifty-sixth game, which meant a considerable amount of time had elapsed.

Nearly four months had passed since Yuki had taken Tamamo on as a protégée. Thankfully, they both had been able to keep playing without losing their lives or suffering serious injuries.

As for Tamamo’s growth, the scene from earlier was ample demonstration. She had sneaked up behind Yuki without being noticed and touched her neck, which meant she could have strangled Yuki if she had so wished. Of course, since she would have oozed malice upon attempting to do so, Yuki would have put up resistance, but the girl was undisputedly skilled in her ability to erase her presence. In her early days as Yuki’s protégée, Tamamo would feel embarrassed just from being hugged, but she had evidently developed thicker skin, as this level of physical contact seemed to no longer bother her. That could very well be considered growth, too.

Whether that was the result of Yuki’s mentorship was uncertain.

Since surviving the mock game on that remote island, Yuki had taught Tamamo in a common-sense way, much unlike Rinrin’s dreadful methods, covering topics such as dealing with traps, combat skills, ways to concentrate, and so forth. Although her lessons were by no means world-class, at the very least, Yuki had done her job training Tamamo into a full-fledged player without her dying or getting injured. That was why the two of them were able to walk alongside one another at this moment.

Yuki carefully observed Tamamo. When they had first met, Tamamo was a round, pudgy girl. When next they met, however, she had transformed into a young woman of unmatched beauty. And now Yuki’s impression of Tamamo had changed yet again. That was only to be expected, as almost half a year had passed since first they ran into one another.

“Have you cleared your eighth game?” Yuki asked.

“Yes, without any issues of note,” Tamamo replied.

Less than four months had gone by since the beginning of their mentor-protégée relationship, and the two of them were no longer living under the same roof. That was for several reasons: Yuki’s studio apartment was too small to accommodate two people, Yuki didn’t enjoy sharing a living space, and Tamamo had also stopped clinging to her mentor, having finally overcome her trauma from lesson one. Their relationship had evolved, and now they would only be in each other’s company once in a while to catch up and train.

It was customary for them to first update each other on their game count when they met up. Last time, Yuki had cleared her fifty-fifth game, and Tamamo her seventh, which meant each of them had cleared one game since then.

With eight games under her belt, Tamamo could already be considered an outstanding player. At her current level of skill, she would likely survive for much longer, barring unforeseen circumstances. She was on track to continue her streak of victories and eventually face the Wall of Thirty—

“…………”

Yuki tried her best to stop herself from imagining anything beyond that.

(6/48)

The two kept walking, when all of a sudden, Yuki’s phone rang.

After checking the caller ID, Yuki said, “I have to take this. Be right back.”

“Got it,” Tamamo replied.

Yuki left Tamamo behind and headed for the nearby park. While walking over, she tapped her phone to accept the call. As she was raising the phone up to her ear, she suddenly stopped herself.

It was a video call.

“…Um, why are we doing this on video?” Yuki asked the caller, who appeared on the screen. “Rinrin, you can’t see, right?”

It was Rinrin—the gentle-looking woman who wore bells on her ears.

“Is there a problem?” she replied. “This is what I was in the mood for.”

“You haven’t changed a bit…”

Evidently, the woman was as determined as ever to keep up her bluffs.

“More importantly, is what you sent me true?” Rinrin asked.

“Yeah.”

Yuki had messaged Rinrin right after leaving her apartment, as she felt this issue was one she needed the woman’s help with. She cut straight to the chase.

“I’ve lost most of the vision in my right eye.”

Yuki focused her attention on her injured eye—and its blurry vision.

Her vision loss had progressed further since Halloween Night. Although Yuki had hoped that wouldn’t happen, few problems in life went away with a simple prayer—especially those related to the human body. Her right eye’s functionality had worsened to the point where she could clearly feel the effects. The right half of her vision was cloudy and out of focus, similar to how it would feel to wear a single contact lens of the wrong prescription that had been scribbled over with a black pen.

Since her vision loss was nothing new, Yuki faced few problems in her day-to-day life. However, she couldn’t read well unless she covered her right eye, and she would frequently make clumsy mistakes when jumping or running around, even in games. Although she had managed to play it off up to now, the situation had finally become dire.

“I’d appreciate it if you could teach me the basics of echolocation.”

Echolocation—the ability to perceive one’s surroundings through echoes. Rinrin no longer possessed that skill, but she had previously used it to thrive as a player. Rinrin was perhaps the only person in the world who could help Yuki through her current predicament.

“Very well,” Rinrin replied. “However…there is not much I can teach you. Echolocation merely involves making noise and picking up the reflected sound waves. It is simply a matter of growing accustomed to it.”

“Well…that’s what I thought, too, and I’ve actually been practicing for a while, but it hasn’t been working out… I think I might be going at it the wrong way. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to meet up in person and have you review my technique.”

“I see. Very well, I will assist you however I can.”

“…Just so we’re on the same page, I don’t want anything like last time,” Yuki clarified. “No frills, please. Like, don’t throw me into a dark room and force me to battle you to the death or anything.”

“Oh, how did you know what I was thinking?”

“…Of course that’s what you had in mind…” Yuki narrowed her eyes. “Was throwing people into the deep end a common teaching style when you were a player?”

“Who knows? You’re the first person I have ever taught, and I’ve never learned under anyone, either.”

“Wait, really?”

That was unexpected. Yuki had assumed Rinrin possessed a wealth of experience teaching others. After all, it seemed she had been quite the capable player, and—her instruction methods aside—she had run the mock game on that remote island rather seamlessly.

“There were players who took on protégées in my day, too, but I wasn’t one of them, because I didn’t think I had the makings of a teacher. Especially after losing my eyesight, I was so focused on working around my disability that I was in no place to be thinking about others…”

Makes sense, Yuki thought.

“That reminds me, Yuki. You had a protégée of your own. How’s it going with her? Are you raising her right? Or is she no longer with us?”

Rinrin had phrased it as if Yuki was taking care of a stag beetle. The woman was truly a player to the core.

“She’s alive and kicking, thankfully,” Yuki replied. “She just cleared her eighth game.”

“Really? How wonderful…”

Yuki sensed a certain implication in Rinrin’s voice as it trailed off. Assuming it was no hallucination, Yuki was easily able to imagine what the woman had wanted to say. It was obvious, considering both Rinrin’s remark and Yuki’s current condition.

“Well…that’s how it is,” Yuki blurted out. She didn’t want to face the possibility of Rinrin spelling it out if the silence continued to drag on. “Anyway, can you let me know what dates work for you?”

“Right, the earliest I can do is…”

After hearing Rinrin’s schedule—the woman’s life of retirement apparently afforded her plenty of free time—Yuki picked a date and ended the call.

The park fell quiet again.

Enveloped by the silence, Yuki thought about many different things. Her right eye. Tamamo. What Hakushi had said to her some time ago—and what Rinrin had implied just now. And above everything else, her current condition.

In those two or three minutes—not a long stretch of time by any means—Yuki felt something deep inside her readily drift away.

(7/48)

After leaving the park, Yuki reunited with Tamamo, and the two resumed their nighttime stroll. The time they spent together was entirely unproductive, complete with idle chatter and convenience store ice cream. Since that would defeat the purpose of Tamamo’s visit, Yuki tried to think of something she could teach but came up empty. In her nearly four months as a mentor, Yuki had already shared everything she could with her protégée. Although Tamamo probably hadn’t internalized everything she had been taught, that would happen with time. Yuki didn’t have to intervene for Tamamo to continue growing on her own.

The situation presented the perfect opportunity to broach the subject.

“Tamamo,” Yuki said, after finding a suitable moment in their conversation. “It’s been…four months? Since I took you on as a protégée.”

“That’s right.”

“Honestly, when we first met, I didn’t expect things to last this long.”

“Me neither,” Tamamo replied shyly. “I was devastated when you left me behind way back when…”

“…Sorry about that…” Yuki genuinely felt terrible about what she’d done in Halloween Night. “Well anyway, it’s been four months, and I’ve taught you pretty much everything I can. I don’t have anything left to pass down to you as a mentor.”

Tamamo likely sensed something ominous in those words, as her expression turned gloomy.

However, Yuki continued. “I told you about how my goal is to clear ninety-nine games, right?”

“Yes, you did.”

“That’s something I inherited from my mentor. She called it quits after her ninety-sixth game because her body got too banged up for her to keep playing. She was only three games away from the finish line, but she concluded that she couldn’t make it in her condition.”

Over the long haul of participating in nearly a hundred games, a player’s body would fall into disrepair. While the organizers didn’t design games to be more or less difficult, players themselves grew weaker over time and thus faced greater troubles. This phenomenon would occur in the final stages of a ninety-nine-game streak.

Yuki felt she had already taken the first step in that downward spiral. The vision loss in her right eye was only the starting point; her condition would surely continue to worsen. That was why she needed to focus on taking countermeasures. She was in no place to be concerned about anything else. Gradually, a logical argument took form in her mind.

“She was just three games away. I have to go that much further than my mentor. It’s not enough for me to only practice what I learned from her; logically speaking, that would only get me as far as ninety-six… In fact, I’d probably fall short of that. My mentor and I are two different people, and we have different strengths and weaknesses. Even if I did everything the same as her, I wouldn’t reach ninety-nine. I need to go beyond what she taught me and find my own unique style—that’s my assessment.”

Way to hide behind faulty logic.

Yuki ignored the voice coming from the depths of her heart.

“Tamamo, I want you to do the same.” Yuki finally reached the crux of the matter. “It won’t do you any good if I keep teaching you forever. This will be the last time we meet like this. I’m terminating our relationship as mentor and protégée. From this point on, use your abilities to find your own way forward and survive on as long as you can.”

Yuki looked at Tamamo. The girl was utterly flabbergasted. Although the word flabbergasted was often used in hyperbole, in this situation, it was a perfect description—perhaps too perfect, in fact. Tamamo stood there frozen, like a statue or mannequin. Of course, no sound came from her lips. She was completely quiet.

Yuki also fell silent, as she felt no need to say anything more. A suffocating mood enveloped the area, as if the curtain of night had taken tangible form and wrapped itself around them.

Yuki was the one to break through the shroud.

“Farewell.”

Leaving behind only a quiet word of parting, Yuki walked away.

Tamamo offered no response. Nor did she chase after Yuki. Yuki couldn’t decipher what Tamamo was thinking, but she chose to conveniently believe the girl had accepted her goodbye.

Yuki reflected on what had just happened. It may not have been the most adept or amicable way of ending things, but nevertheless, she had gotten it done. It had been a painful decision, but her hands were tied. This was best for both Tamamo and herself—

Is that what I really believe?

(8/48)

After that farewell, Yuki no longer met up with Tamamo. It seemed she had successfully dissolved their mentor-protégée relationship. Although part of Yuki’s heart remained clouded, she focused her efforts on addressing the problem with her right eye. She met with Rinrin, practiced echolocation, and spent time solely on herself.

Around two months later, in her sixty-second game, Yuki would come to gravely regret her decision.

(9/48)

—Two weeks after Yuki had taken on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation.

“Okay, this lesson will prepare you for escape games,” Yuki said to Tamamo.

The two were standing in front of a house. It was a perfectly ordinary-looking residence—at least, it appeared that way. In reality, it was a monster house that would devour anyone who dared enter. The inside was littered with traps—all for training purposes and none that were lethal, but traps were traps. Yuki had taken a look around the house earlier.

The house had been set up for them by the supplier, the man whom Yuki had met on that remote island. There was no more better training ground for an escape game.

“Have you played in any escape games?” Yuki asked.

“No,” Tamamo replied. “Halloween Night has been my only game so far…”

“In that case, I’ll explain the basic principles.”

Yuki opened the door and stepped into the entryway, which led to a hallway.

“Tamamo, can you see that over there?”

Yuki pointed to a spot farther down the hall. Tamamo turned in that direction and squinted but made a face that implied she didn’t know what Yuki was referring to.

“There’s a slit in the floor,” Yuki said, revealing the answer.

Several feet away, there was an unnatural slit that clearly did not match the flooring. Since the hallway lights were off, only the most eagle-eyed would notice it.

“I’m willing to bet it’s a trap.”

“Now that you mention it…I do see it,” Tamamo said.

“When you’re in an escape game, ideally you spot traps ahead of time like this. If you know where they’re hidden, you won’t get caught in them. The best thing you can do is not trigger any traps in the first place.”

Yuki moved her finger and pointed to another spot, this time near the far corner of the hallway.

“There’s probably a trap there, too.”

“……? I don’t see anything strange.”

“Me neither, but speaking from experience, those kinds of spots are likely to be hiding traps. It’s easy to get distracted when you’re turning a corner. If you put yourself in the shoes of the person who set the trap, you’d realize it’s a prime location for one.”

“You imagine things from the trap setter’s perspective?”

“Yep. That’s why it’s not easy to catch seasoned players in traps, no matter how well hidden they are. Intuition and a keen eye—those are the two tools players use to evade traps. While it’s definitely important to pay close attention to your surroundings, as you’re moving around, you should also consider where traps are likely to be and where someone would set them.”

“Understood.”

“Next… If you stumble into a trap…”

With her shoes on, Yuki entered the hallway. After taking several steps, she deliberately walked over the unnatural slit in the floor. The next instant, an arrow came flying from her left. Before its tip could reach Yuki’s head, she protected herself by snatching the projectile out of the air.

“Impressive,” Tamamo said.

“Thanks,” Yuki replied. “If you trigger a trap, it’s important to realize it as soon as possible. There should be signs you’ve set one off. In this case, I felt something strange when stepping on the floor and heard the sound of an arrow cutting through the air. Be on the lookout for those signs—and don’t miss them.”

Yuki glanced at the arrow in her hand. It was a toy arrow with a plunger head for a tip. Getting hit with it would be perfectly safe.

“As soon as you pick up those signs, you have to act to protect yourself. This time, I reacted by grabbing the arrow, but I would never do anything like that in an actual game. Instead, I’d either dodge out of the way or let it hit me somewhere that wouldn’t be fatal. The goal is to be able do those things instinctively.”

“I understand.”

Once Yuki finished her lecture on the basics, the training began. Yuki tasked Tamamo with finding and bringing back a cell phone she had placed in the house. Tamamo proceeded down the hallway, and when she reached the midway point—

“—?!”

Tamamo made an incoherent sound.

A powdery substance had shot out of the floor and blasted her without warning. It was likely meant to simulate a land mine.

“…Sorry, I died.” Tamamo, now covered in powder, turned around to look at Yuki.

Yuki gazed back with a forced smile. These traps sure are elaborate.

(10/48)

Yuki awoke on top of a sofa.

(11/48)

Her first impression was that it was an expensive-looking sofa. It was wide enough for a person to lie across, even comfortably fitting someone like Yuki, who was taller than average. The vivid red seat with a gold frame was symbolic of celebration and brought to mind a king’s cape or a cheongsam.

Upon looking around, Yuki realized that the entire room shared the same color combination, from the ceiling to the walls, chandelier, paintings on the walls, chairs, table, and carpet. Every object in the room was luxurious, so much so that it seemed almost tasteless. To Yuki, it looked like a chamber in a palace.

“Finally awake?” a voice called out to her.

Sitting on a different sofa directly across the table was a girl of a similar age. She was wearing an outfit atypical of everyday life. It featured a large hat with a brim the width of three human heads and a single feather sticking out the side; a cape draped over her shoulders, resting on a shirt that boasted an outrageous number of frills; and a sword that hung from the thick belt to keep her skirt fixed in place. It was costume fit for a swordfighter, the kind you would only see in movies or plays—certainly not modern society.

The girl was not the only one in those clothes; Yuki had on a similar outfit.

“…Hello,” Yuki greeted while touching her hat’s wide brim. “Sorry. I’m kind of a heavy sleeper, so I’m always late to wake.”

As she rattled off her usual phrase, Yuki glanced around at the other players.

There were six other girls in the room. Each of them was doing her own thing, be it sitting on a sofa, leaning against the wall, or pacing around. They all wore the outfit of a European swordfighter, albeit with differing decorative details, and they were all staring observantly at Yuki.

She surveyed the six of them in turn. None was a player she knew—at least, as far as she could tell.

“What kind of game is this?” Yuki asked.

“No idea,” replied the girl who had spoken up earlier. “But I think we’ll hear an explanation soon. That thing must be set up over there for a reason…”

Yuki followed the girl’s gaze to a screen embedded in the wall. The object clashed with the otherwise meticulously crafted atmosphere of the palace-like room. That the organizers had allowed such an immersion-breaking item to remain suggested they needed it for the game to proceed. There was a good chance it would be used to explain the rules.

As soon as Yuki reached that conclusion, the device flickered on.

A marionette that wouldn’t seem out of place on a children’s TV show appeared on the screen. It had a voluminous beard extending from the bottom half of its face, a cape that matched the color palette of the room draped over its body, and a glimmering crown on its head that seemed to feature every kind of gemstone in the world. All those characteristics gave it the appearance of a king.

“—Welcome, one and all,” greeted the king—the game’s explainer—in a pompous tone.

And so Yuki’s sixty-second game, Royal Palace, kicked off to a quiet start.

(12/48)

The rules, as explained by the king, were quite simple. The game was themed around sword duels. Players would be called into an arena at regular intervals and face another player in a one-on-one duel. When the duel was settled, surviving players would return to their respective waiting rooms and wait to be called again, restarting the cycle.

The total player count was seventy. Apparently, there were nine other teams of seven like Yuki’s standing by in different rooms. Each round of duels would feature matchups not between individuals but between teams. Each team would choose one representative to fight in each round. When the time came, the lock to the waiting room door would disengage, opening a path to the arena.

The rules for the duels themselves were not overly complex. Once both fighters reached the arena, the king would signal the start of the duel. Players could only bring a single sword into the arena, but there weren’t any restrictions on how they fought. The duel would end when one player either surrendered or lost all vital signs—in other words, died.

“There will be eighteen rounds,” the king explained. “The tournament will be conducted in a double round-robin format, which will make for a grand total of ninety duels.”

Yuki attempted the arithmetic in her head. Since there were nine other teams, facing each team twice would mean a total of eighteen rounds. The number of combinations for choosing two teams out of ten could be calculated as ten times nine divided by two, or forty-five. Multiplying that by two for a double round-robin resulted in ninety total duels.

“At the end of all eighteen rounds, teams will be ranked by their respective number of match victories. The top seven teams will clear the game. Of course, this means the three teams with the fewest wins will lose. We will personally see to the deaths of the remaining players on those teams.”

That must be why we have the option to surrender, Yuki thought. Although surrendering would allow a player to temporarily escape with their life, that match would be recorded as a loss for their team, putting true salvation further out of reach.

Game over for three out of ten teams meant a death rate of 30 percent—the same as the death rate in most games. In reality, however, the percentage would likely be higher. While the rules made it possible to wave the white flag, some players would almost certainly lose their lives while dueling.

With that, the basic explanation of the rules came to an end, and the floor was opened to the players. Yuki and her teammates lobbed multiple questions at the king.

“How much time will there be between rounds?” someone asked.

“There are no provisions regarding breaks. A new match will begin after the previous one ends. However, we will not move on to a new round until all the matches in the previous round have concluded. If your duel ends quickly, you can expect some time to rest.”

Another girl asked, “How will ties be broken if multiple teams end with the same record?”

“Ties will be broken by a team’s total number of surrenders. Teams that surrender fewer times over the course of the tournament will be ranked higher. Should this comparison fail to resolve the draw, the teams in question will face off in a tiebreaker duel, with the winning team being awarded a higher rank.”

“Is there a limit to the number of times a group can surrender?” a different girl asked.

“No. However, as surrenders will directly factor into tiebreaks, it would be wise not to make the decision lightly.”

“What if a team secures a top spot during the game?” yet another girl asked. “Like, for example…there can’t be eight teams that end with twelve or more victories. Twelve times eight is ninety-six, which exceeds the total number of duels. So any team that reaches twelve victories is guaranteed to survive. Will they automatically clear the game when they do so?”

“Precisely. Teams that guarantee themselves a top spot will be allowed to leave, and their remaining duels will be treated as surrenders. As such, any teams fortunate enough to be paired against them in later rounds will be rewarded with walkover victories.”

“Teams have to pick someone to fight each duel, right?” This time, it was Yuki who asked the question. “How do we choose who goes?”

“There is no prescribed method. You are free to decide however you wish, be it through volunteering, on a rotational basis, or by drawing lots. The same player may also fight in consecutive duels.”

“What if nobody wants to go?”

“In that case, we will designate one player at random. Should that player refuse, that duel will be treated as a surrender.”

“…Got it.”

Once everyone ran out of questions, the screen flickered off.

The seven players briefly introduced themselves, sharing their player names and game counts.

“Now…how should we do this?” Yuki asked, once they were all acquainted with one another. “There’s one thing we need to discuss right now: Who’s going to go first?”

That was the core mechanic of this game: figuring out how to decide who would represent the team in a duel and, consequently, face the risk of death.

Yuki drew the sword by her side. The shaft of the weapon had no edge but instead tapered to a point. It was a rapier—a blade designed not for cutting but for thrusting.

“Anyone confident in their swordplay?” Yuki asked the group.

Many people in the world knew their way around a blade, owing to the popularity of martial arts like kendo and sports like fencing. Yuki figured at least one among them would have that kind of experience, but after a few moments passed, none of the other girls volunteered their name. Did they actually lack the relevant experience, or were some intentionally keeping quiet to evade the responsibility of fighting the duel?

“…Based on the game counts we shared earlier,” someone commented, “you’re the most experienced of us all, Yuki.”

She nodded. According to their introductions, she had by far the highest game count of the group. None of her teammates had reached thirty games, which, by extension, meant none had crossed the Wall of Thirty. Yuki had assumed as much even before the other players had introduced themselves. Not one of the girls gave off the aura of a veteran, and there were no familiar faces.

“In that case, I’ll go first,” Yuki said. “The rest of you should talk and decide what to do for the following rounds, whether that’s leaving everything to me or sharing the responsibility.”

Players who participated in a duel risked losing their lives. Although surrendering was an option, there was always the possibility of being killed before even having the chance to do so. Continuing to shoulder that risk would place a player in an unfavorable position, but asking inexperienced players to share the burden had its own disadvantages. Under the rules of the game, players on the same team shared the number of victories, which meant the optimal strategy would be for strong players—in this case, Yuki—to fight more duels and rack up as many wins as possible. Although Yuki left the decision up to the other players, she expected to end up fighting the majority of their duels—perhaps even all eighteen.

Yuki gently swung her rapier around. She pictured an imaginary opponent standing before her and, after crossing swords with them, thrust her rapier into their heart.

“Can you fight with a rapier?” someone asked.

“Yeah,” Yuki answered. “I’ve handled pretty much every kind of weapon before. This is my first time using one of these in a game, but I’ll be up to the task.”

(13/48)

—A month after Yuki had taken on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation.

“You should get a feel for every kind of weapon at least once,” Yuki said.

They were in an abandoned building. The supplier had set it up for them, just like he had the monster house from some time ago. The building was located far away from civilization, which meant there was no worry of a bystander hearing real gunfire or witnessing any death. Yuki and Tamamo sat facing each other in one of the rooms.

Lined up between them were numerous armaments the supplier had procured. Among them were weapons commonly featured in games, like handguns and knives, weapons that only appeared in specific types of games, like katanas and rapiers, and rarer varieties, such as nunchakus and kunai.

“Many weapons aren’t easy to figure out at first glance, so I’ll train you until you can at least handle wielding them all.”

Yuki looked at two of the weapons before her—a katana and a butterfly knife. Presumably, they were the same ones she and Rinrin had used on that island.

At present, Tamamo wouldn’t even be able to unsheathe them. While a butterfly knife was certainly difficult to open, drawing a katana was also surprisingly challenging. Someone lacking the relevant knowledge wouldn’t even be able to think about attacking with them, much less stand a chance against an experienced opponent. The fight would be over before it even began.

“Once you’re able to handle them, the next step will be to train you to actually fight with them. You can use the weight of a weapon to quickly determine its effective range…”

Yuki picked up the rapier. The moment she drew the sword from its sheath, she hit the ground running. Taking one, two, three steps forward, she set her sights on a chair lying on the floor nearby and thrust her blade at it. Before it occurred to Yuki that she had performed this series of actions almost entirely on instinct, the rapier had already penetrated the chair at a perfect distance away from her. Technique like that took years of experience to hone.

Yuki turned to Tamamo. “You’ll practice until you can fully unlock the power of any weapon under any circumstances. That’s all I have to say about weapons.”

“…That’s it?” Tamamo sounded surprised. “I thought you were going to go more in-depth about things like swordplay or fighting with a staff.”

“Some people focus on those areas, but that’s not my style. Rather than seek mastery in a single weapon, I’ve trained myself to be able to adequately work with a wide variety in any situation.”

That was also something Yuki had learned from Hakushi long ago: Since there were many varieties of games, and the weapons players encountered differed every time, it was better to be adaptable than to specialize. Although Yuki was simply echoing her own mentor’s lesson, she wholeheartedly agreed with the underlying logic.

To begin the training session, Yuki first decided to have Tamamo try out the butterfly knife. It was the perfect weapon for a beginner to practice with, since it looked cool and would inspire a great sense of accomplishment when wielded deftly. After giving a brief explanation, Yuki had Tamamo attempt to use a practice knife that lacked a blade.

A short while later—

“……!!”

The handle of the weapon rotated around with great force and hit Tamamo’s fingers, making the girl writhe in agony.

The same thing had happened to Yuki; that had to hurt.

(14/48)

Shiro awoke on top of a sofa.

(15/48)

“Ngah…”

While making a sound halfway between a groan and a yawn, Shiro sat up.

She found herself in a luxurious room. Everything inside gave off a classy vibe, including the sofa she was lying on, the various other furnishings, the wallpaper, the carpet, and even the air itself. After taking a few breaths, Shiro felt vitality well up inside her. This was exactly the kind of place that suited her. This sort of game value fired her up far more than gloomy locales such as a pumpkin patch or an abandoned hospital.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Shiro heard a voice, but she paid it no mind and got off the sofa.

She headed toward a nearby full-length mirror. The first thing she noticed was her swordfighter outfit. Next, she inched closer and closer to the glass and took in her reflection.

“Hey, um…”

Shiro heard a voice, but she paid it no mind and continued staring into the mirror.

A perfect face, even as a reflection, she thought, flattering herself. Although her face did not strike her as beautiful, it emanated an aura of might; it was the look of a woman worthy of ruling this world. She gently stroked her black-and-white-streaked hair—she had colored it to match her player name, which contained the character for wolf—and lightly tidied herself up. Then she touched her ponytail, which she had styled to resemble a wolf’s tail, to make sure it was properly tied.

Wonderful. I’m looking as sharp as ever today.

“…Hey! Do you hear me?!”

The voice grew to a shout. Shiro turned around.

Standing there were six girls, all wearing swordfighter outfits like her. One was standing slightly in front of the others; she must have called out to Shiro.

“Hey there,” Shiro casually greeted.

“Is that all you have to say?” said the girl at the front. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages…”

Yes, this was definitely the girl who had been calling out to her.

“Ages? Didn’t you only call out to me twice?” Shiro replied.

“Try five times. So you didn’t hear even hear half of them…”

Was it that many? Shiro thought. It had completely escaped her notice. She did have a bad habit filtering out the voices of others when she was absorbed in a task.

“How rude of me.” Shiro took off her hat and bowed. “I beg your pardon. That was an improper way to treat someone I will soon be fighting alongside.”

“…Why do you think we’ll be fighting together?”

“Oh, am I mistaken? I simply assumed that would be the case. What are the rules, then?”

“Well, we don’t actually know yet…”

The next moment, the screen in the room flickered to life.

(16/48)

The king graciously explained the stipulations of the game.

The competition was themed around duels between swordswomen. Players would be called to the arena and cross swords with an opponent. The duel would end when one of the fighters perished or surrendered. The seven players in the room would fight eighteen matches between them, and at the end of the tournament, the seven teams with the best records would clear the game. Due to the nature of duels, players would be clashing one-on-one, but the seven players on a team had to split the responsibility of fighting, so ultimately, their fates were linked.

After the screen went black, the players naturally began to discuss which of them would have the honor of taking the first duel.

“There are eighteen rounds in total,” said a country bumpkin–looking girl with freckles and a French braid. “If we rotate in and out, each of us will fight two or three times, right?”

“Yeah, but…is that really the best way to go about it?” replied a girl with bad posture. “It doesn’t matter who goes out as long as they can win. I think it’d be wise to send out the strongest person and leave it up to them as to whether to surrender or fight. Is anyone here confident with a sword?”

“If ya ask that, no one’s gonna raise their hand,” replied a player with a thick accent.

“What if we all try fighting once?” a grade-school-age girl proposed. “We can take out the losers from the next rotation…”

“Do that, and everyone’s going to intentionally try to lose,” a college-age girl retorted. “It’s a terrible idea to adopt a system that encourages surrendering.”

“…………” A girl whose long hair covered most of her face watched silently as the others continued the discussion.

After observing each of her six teammates, Shiro wrote off the others as hopeless. Their auras were all unremarkable. None of them were sharp. They were the type of players to drop dead before long.

“What do you think?” someone asked Shiro.

“Yes, well,” Shiro replied, crossing her legs on a sofa, “if nobody wishes to go, how about you let me have the honor?”

“…Are you confident in your skills?”

“Not particularly, but from what I’m hearing, nobody here is, correct?” Using the elastic force of the springs, Shiro jumped up onto the couch and drew her sword. “In which case, I would prefer to dictate the outcome of the game by my own hand, rather than be at the mercy of others. There’s also a chance that winning duels will add to our individual prize money.”

It was unclear how the amount of prize money was determined after players cleared a game. However, based on her own experience and gossip from other players, Shiro suspected the amount directly correlated with how much attention a player got for livening up the game.

“We can’t trust you with the responsibility,” someone said.

Shiro turned in the direction of the voice. It was the long-haired girl.

“I’ve seen you before.”

“Oh, is that so?” Shiro replied. “I’m afraid I don’t remember you. Have we met somewhere?”

“I watched you get crushed by another player. We can’t count on you.”

“I have no idea when that may have been, but I’ve since grown as a player.” Shiro pointed the tip of her rapier at the girl. “You are aware that people are capable of growth, yes? Or perhaps…if you don’t believe me, how about we have a little duel right here?”

“…………”

The long-haired girl reached across her body and motioned to draw her sword, but then—

“Have it your way,” she said, shaking her head.

Shiro shrugged. She certainly isn’t sharp, she thought.

(17/48)

Yuki headed for the arena.

(18/48)

After some time, the screen turned on again to display the matchups. The ten teams were split into two columns, separated with the letters VS. The teams ranged from Team 1 to Team 10, but one group name was listed in a slightly different color, indicating Yuki’s was Team 5. For this round, their opponent would be Team 6. Next to each group name were seven symbols shaped like people, along with a string of characters reading 0W/0L. It appeared the screen would be regularly updated with the number of living players and each team’s record.

At the same moment the screen lit up, the clack of the entrance unlocking sounded. The sole locked door in the room had opened. Yuki peeked through and saw a single straight path extending beyond it. As soon as she left the room, the door automatically shut behind her and would no longer budge. There was no turning back until her duel reached some form of a conclusion.

After continuing down the path, Yuki came to a crossroads. Only one of the several doors before her was open, so that was the one she walked through.

The next moment, she found herself in a circular arena.

The space was fairly large—large enough that a person standing on one edge would just barely be able to aim a gun at someone standing on the opposite side, at least based on Yuki’s impression. Numerous spotlights shined down from the ceiling. The ring was surrounded by tall wire netting, beyond which was tiered seating for spectators. Although no audience members were present, in their place were surveillance cameras on each seat. The devices focused their lenses on Yuki, and she felt the unsettling sensation of being watched. Above the highest row of seats was a large screen split into five equal sections, each displaying a different arena. The same footage was likely also being displayed on the screens in the waiting rooms. It seemed the duels would be broadcast live.

By the time Yuki reached the arena, her opponent was already inside. Like Yuki, she was a young-looking girl in a swordfighter’s outfit. It was their first time meeting—at least, as far as Yuki could tell. Judging by the girl’s aura, her opponent probably had around ten games under her belt; she was accustomed to the games yet had not reached the upper echelons of players.

The girl drew her rapier, and Yuki did the same. According to the rules, the duel would commence on the king’s cue, so the two faced each other while standing at the ready without crossing their swords. Every cell in Yuki’s body—from her hand around her rapier to her arms, shoulders, head, upper body, and lower body—steeled itself for battle to kick off.

Though Yuki was physically fired up, mentally her nerves were getting to her. She wasn’t confident in her swordplay. Although she had been willing to lead her team out of a belief that she was stronger than the average player, unlike in games past, she could no longer think of herself as unbeatable.

Yuki deliberately blinked.

She looked out in front of her. She could see her arm. Her sword. Her opponent.

However, she was unable to accurately gauge the distance between the other player and herself—for she had completely lost vision in one eye.

(19/48)

Yuki’s condition had finally reached the end of the road. The medical exam she took after clearing her sixty-first game revealed complete vision loss in her damaged eye. Yuki’s right eyeball could no longer detect light.

While she had barely been able to see out of it before, there was a considerable difference between being “mostly blind” and “completely blind.” Losing half of her field of vision doomed her depth perception. At this point, Yuki even longed for the days when her right eye still had hazy vision.

Lately, Yuki had tried her best to avoid direct combat, but that was not going to be possible in this game. The rules offered no path to survival besides winning duels, and even when factoring in her disability, her team’s chances of victory would be maximized with Yuki in battle. She had to get it done.

Yuki touched the roof of her mouth with her tongue—

She stopped herself. Her opponent probably hadn’t realized Yuki couldn’t see properly. If Yuki used that technique, she would essentially be giving herself away. This time, she had to fight normally.

Suddenly, the king popped up on the screen.

“Fighters, at your ready,” he said.

Yuki and her opponent adjusted their postures. Yuki looked away from the screen and focused on her foe. Her awareness became sharper than the tip of her rapier…

“—Begin!”

The second she heard the king’s signal, Yuki charged straight at her opponent at full speed.

She had decided on her plan of attack in advance. Make the first move. Immediately go on the offensive. Adopt an aggressive stance. That was Yuki’s best strategy. She couldn’t show that her vision was impaired. Even if it was only an act, she had to conduct herself with bravado to make it convincing, as if she could see perfectly, as if she had no weaknesses.

Yuki got close enough to her opponent that their swords could touch. At this point, Yuki stopped charging forward. In order to hide her vision loss, it was crucial she end the duel as soon as possible, especially since the fight was being broadcast live. For this first duel, however, she decided to drag things out. Despite her aggressive stance, she wouldn’t go overboard. She wanted to confirm how much she was capable of while the game was still in its early stages.

Yuki crossed blades with her opponent.

The sound of metal striking metal reverberated through the spectatorless arena. As anyone would do in a swordfight, Yuki paid close attention to everything about her opponent—the girl’s sword, the movements of her arm, her footwork, her breathing, and her aura. Yet Yuki also added her own little twist to that formula. It was difficult to put into words, as it was something she did intuitively, but rather than simply taking the visual information transmitted through her eye at face value, she extracted and processed the meaning of that information. For instance, if her opponent stepped forward, Yuki’s brain would process that as her opponent “getting closer.” If Yuki herself took a step forward, she would interpret that as “approaching her opponent.” If she had “approached her opponent” multiple times yet did not feel “close,” that would signal a problem. Had she not done this, there would likely be discrepancies between the actual distance and the distance Yuki sensed between her and her opponent; in this way, Yuki continuously compensated for the shortfalls in her vision.

After about thirty or forty seconds of Yuki doing this, the other duelist began to grow more aggressive.

Yuki’s intuition told her that her foe was going to lunge forward.

Indeed, the other player took a step toward her. Yuki stepped back in response, and as she did, she laid a small trap: She kept her sword-wielding left hand exactly where it was, gripping the rapier as if it was fixed at a certain point in the air. Its tip was in the exact spot where her opponent’s arm would momentarily pass through.

Her opponent lunged forward with her entire arm, aiming her rapier at Yuki’s chest. Her strike failed to connect, and Yuki took advantage of the girl’s momentum to slice her arm.

“Guh…,” the girl groaned.

The hand of the girl’s injured arm quivered, and she let go of her rapier. Yuki kicked the weapon away before it could hit the ground. Listening to the weapon fly far away, she raised her own rapier slightly and pointed its tip—which was covered with white fluff that had formed from blood as a result of the Preservation Treatment—at her opponent’s neck.

Yuki took another step forward to flaunt her superiority.

“…I…,” her opponent said, raising both hands into the air, “I admit defeat.”

The footage on the screen changed to a different scene.

“Enough,” said the king.

(20/48)

—A month and a half after Yuki had taken on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation.

“Whoa!” Tamamo exclaimed as she fell onto her bottom.

Yuki watched the scene play out from behind a fake sword.

The two of them were having a practice duel, going at each other with mock blades. In the end, Yuki emerged victorious after performing a single lunge that took advantage of an opening in Tamamo’s consecutive attacks, causing the girl to fall backward.

Yuki reached out to her protégée.

“Thank you…” Tamamo got back on her feet. “…I can’t believe I still can’t beat you, even with one of your eyes covered…” Disappointment and frustration showed on her face.

Yuki was wearing a patch over her right eye. Although that eye hadn’t gone totally blind yet, she was training herself in anticipation of full vision loss. Despite giving Tamamo this handicap, however, the girl had failed to notch a single victory against Yuki—not just in this battle, but across their numerous fights.

“Well, we’ve been living under the same roof for a while now,” Yuki said. “I can more or less tell what your next move will be. Don’t kick yourself for not being able to beat me.”

“Shouldn’t that be true the other way around, too? And yet here we are again…”

Yuki had already gone over the full range of combat techniques with Tamamo, but the girl was still quite weak. Sure, Yuki may not have been the best teacher, but it was also likely there was a flaw in Tamamo’s approach to fighting.

“I don’t think you’re cut out for attacking,” Yuki said. “Try fighting more defensively. As I just demonstrated, you lose a lot of our battles to being countered.”

In Yuki’s view, Tamamo’s greatest strength was her tenacity. In a past game, Halloween Night, the girl had scampered around the venue to escape from violent players, all the while huffing and puffing and gasping for air. Beyond that, she had managed to locate Yuki without a single hint, and she even had greater stamina than Yuki. She was built for defense, but on the flip side, she was not so skilled at going on the offensive. Not only was she not intimidating in the slightest, but her aura simply screamed adorableness. Taking the initiative was never going to work for her.

“Rather than attack, you should focus on maintaining a solid defense. Like, keep provoking your opponent and strike when you see an opening. I think you’re better off relying on those kinds of tactics.”

“But, Yuki, your style is based on active attacking, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

Just because that was how Yuki fought did not mean it was the strongest possible strategy for Tamamo to adopt. Yuki had simply taken up that style because it suited her; different strategies were optimal for different players. As a matter of fact, players built for defense had a stronger claim to being at the top. Since the job of a player was to survive, it was more valuable to be better at fleeing and guarding oneself.

Wait, why did she suddenly bring me up? Yuki wondered. After some thought, she recalled something Tamamo had said long ago.

“I want to be like you…”

“Would you rather have the same style as me?” Yuki asked directly.

“Wha—? No, I, um,” Tamamo stammered.

Bingo.

Hmm…, Yuki thought.

(21/48)

“Enough,” said the king.

Shiro stopped lunging with her rapier.

She looked at her opponent. An expression of panic. Multiple cuts to her face and clothes. Her hands absent her sword, which she had dropped after Shiro had stabbed her in the shoulder.

Shiro’s first duel—Team 8’s first match—was, quite frankly, a one-sided affair. Her opponent had clearly been terrified and hadn’t even wielded her weapon properly. In all likelihood, the girl had entered the arena not of her own volition, but rather due to losing a game of rock-paper-scissors or some other method. Upon recognizing the state of her opponent, Shiro had viciously attacked right from the outset of the duel. She stabbed her opponent all over without allowing the girl even a moment to catch her breath, and after plunging her rapier deep in the girl’s shoulder, thus keeping her from holding her sword, her opponent surrendered. It had taken less than a minute for the duel to conclude.

“A wise decision,” Shiro said, putting away her rapier.

Next, Shiro turned to the cameras surrounding the arena and gave a respectful bow. She then turned to the opposite side of the arena and repeated this gesture. Once her greetings to the game’s audience were complete, Shiro returned down the path from which she had come and soon came back to the waiting room.

“I have returned,” Shiro announced to her six teammates. “What did you think? Were you watching my display of swordplay?”

As Shiro plopped down on a sofa, one girl replied, “Yes. You sure are strong, Shiro.”

“Indeed I am.”

This was Shiro’s twenty-first game. While she still had yet to reach the Wall of Thirty, she was a seasoned player in her own right. Shiro sensed her abilities had grown as she had accumulated experience. In the early days, other players had knocked her around—just as that long-haired girl had mentioned—but lately, that had been happening less and less. She had undoubtedly gotten stronger.

Shiro turned to the long-haired girl, who was staring at the screen and made no attempt to return Shiro’s stare.

“Hey there,” Shiro called out to the girl. “Have I convinced you of my abilities?”

“…………” After a brief pause, the girl curtly replied, “I suppose.”

Evidently, the girl was loath to acknowledge her own mistakes. That’s not sharp of you, Shiro thought, before turning to the screen. Footage of unfinished duels was still being broadcast, and the match table had been banished to the edge of the screen. Displayed below one of the team names—Shiro’s Team 8—was the string of characters 1W/0L.

(22/48)

All the first-round duels had concluded.

The number of players shown in the match table remained the same, indicating every duel had ended with a surrender. Yuki’s Team 5 received a win, while her opponent’s Team 6 now had one loss. The results of the other duels were also reflected underneath each team name.

Then the second round began.

With only Team 1’s position fixed in the match table, the other nine teams were rotated clockwise, thereby creating new pairings. Apparently, that was the standard method for generating a round-robin tournament schedule. Following that pattern, Yuki mapped out her team’s future matches. They would face Team 4 in the second round, Team 5 in the third, Team 9 in the fourth, and Team 7 in the fifth. Next would come Teams 1, 3, and 10 in that order, before the cycle finished with a match against Team 8. It seemed completely random. While thinking it strange that simply rotating the teams would result in such a bizarre sequence, Yuki entered the arena for the second round and claimed victory by making her opponent surrender.

After that, the game continued without a hitch.

Yuki won her duels in the third and fourth rounds. Only having vision in one eye presented no issues, and she did not come across any players capable of rivalling her. Since the duels were being broadcast on the screens, Yuki, who continued to represent her team, was shown far more than other players, but having that extra information about her techniques revealed impacted absolutely nothing. While cutting down her opponents with ease and making them admit defeat, Yuki racked up one victory after another.

When it came time for the fifth round, Yuki’s exhaustion had piled up, so she had a different teammate go out in her stead. Although the girl put in a valiant effort, she was met with defeat, but because she had surrendered, she escaped with her life. Yuki returned to action for the sixth round onward and secured two more victories for her team.

The eighth match ended, of course, with Yuki’s victory—but a slight issue had arisen. Like in all her previous duels, Yuki attempted to overpower her opponent and coax out words of surrender, but the other girl just wouldn’t give in. Her eighth-round opponent belonged to Team 10, whose record as displayed on the screen was 1W/6L. Their team was nearing the end of the road, which meant the girl must have felt that surrendering was no longer an option. It was Yuki’s playstyle to avoid needless killing, but the situation left her with no choice. She might’ve been able to find a different solution had both her eyes still been functioning, but in her current state, she didn’t have the capacity. And so she repeatedly stabbed her opponent in vital spots and mercilessly brought the girl’s life to an end.

Yuki offered no verbal apology.

The death of that player brought Team 5’s record to 7W/1L. Naturally, they stood alone at the top of the standings. And because their team would again face each team they had beaten in the second half of the tournament, they could expect to win those matches, essentially guaranteeing them fourteen wins by the end of the game. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long until they cleared the game by reaching the magic number of twelve.

Then it came time for the ninth round—their final match of the first round-robin.

Yuki’s team was up against Team 8.

(23/48)

Yuki headed to the arena for the ninth round. By the time she got there, her opponent had already arrived. She was a player with a wolflike, half-black half-white hairstyle that featured a bundle of hair hanging down like a tail at the back of her head. She was fairly tall, and like everyone else in the game, she had on a swordfighter’s outfit that complemented her appearance. More so than cool or pretty, she looked rather sharp.

“Why, hello there,” her opponent said.

“Hello,” Yuki greeted back.

“Yuki, is it? It sure has been a while.”

“……?” Yuki took a good look at her opponent. “Have we met before?”

Her opponent chuckled. “You don’t remember me? That hurts. In that case, allow me to introduce myself again… My name is Shiro. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The player took off her hat and gave an exaggerated bow.

Even after hearing the name, Yuki couldn’t remember her. Although the player did look vaguely familiar, where could they have met?

“I must say, you’re quite the fighter.”

Shiro turned toward the screen—or more precisely, the corner of the screen that displayed Team 5’s record: 7W/1L.

“Seven wins and one loss. Since that single loss came from another player, you personally have an undefeated record. Very impressive.”

Yuki didn’t respond, just carefully watched her opponent.

“Knowing that, I might as well throw in the towel,” Shiro said while pacing around. “That was the consensus of my teammates, and I am inclined to agree. After all, there is little hope of someone who has yet to reach thirty games like me besting you. However…” Shiro theatrically drew her rapier. “I am simply loath to admit defeat, so allow me to resist just a little… This time, I will make sure you remember my name.”

She sure has a flair for the dramatic, Yuki thought. She drew her own sword and adopted a fighting pose.

As if it had been waiting for Yuki to get into her stance, the screen switched over to the king.

“Fighters, at your ready,” the king said. “Begin!”

At the king’s signal, Yuki charged forward, exactly as she had done in her previous duels. Even if her current opponent was an eccentric player who knew who she was, that did not change what she had to do. With the exception of the first round, Yuki had swiftly settled each of her duels. Although the exact details differed slightly each time, all her fights had followed the same general pattern: Yuki would attack at a dizzying speed, forcing her opponents to retreat both physically and mentally, compelling them to surrender. Of course, Yuki had no intention of deviating from that formula this time around. However—

Shiro did something unlike Yuki’s previous opponents. Rather than retreat backward, she moved to the right with deft footwork.

“—!”

Yuki flinched for a brief moment, before she crossed blades with her opponent, causing a metallic clang to ring out.

The two of them fought at a distance such that their rapiers could touch yet their bodies were out of harm’s way. They parried each other’s swords and adjusted the distance between them, waiting for an opening. Every time, Shiro would move to Yuki’s right, and every time, Yuki would alter the orientation of her body, being forced to fight while constantly spinning clockwise.

As Yuki was unable to see out of her right eye, her right side was her Achilles’ heel. It was not a matter of distance or depth; she couldn’t see toward the right, full stop. An opponent shifting to her right presented far more of an issue than someone who simply shuffled forward and backward.

To make matters worse, Yuki couldn’t make sense of the situation. Her opponent was indeed exploiting her weakness, but why was she moving in this manner? Why was she not moving backward or to the left but was instead set on circling to Yuki’s right?

Yuki glared at Shiro with her functioning left eye and her sightless right eye.

Are you aware of my condition?

Yuki had no way of knowing if the message contained in her gaze was accurately conveyed, but at the very least, it elicited a reaction.

While continuing to swing her sword and maneuver to Yuki’s right, as if targeting the tiny gap between Yuki’s attacks—Shiro smirked.

“—!”

That smirk, as well as the unease it sparked, pushed Yuki to attempt to end the duel as soon as possible.

Yuki stepped forward. Making use of her reliable reflexes, she audaciously grabbed Shiro’s rapier, which had been thrust at her neck. Yuki pulled Shiro and the sword toward her, took another step forward herself, and lunged with her other arm—the one with her rapier.

The sword plunged into the right side of Shiro’s chest.

I did it, Yuki thought in that brief moment.

However, she quickly realized she had made three mistakes.

The first was misjudging the distance between her and her opponent. Yuki had stepped too far forward, gotten too close, and stabbed her rapier too deeply into Shiro’s body. At this moment, the two of them were close enough to reach out and touch each other without the need for a sword.

The second was leaving herself vulnerable. Yuki had used one hand to grab Shiro’s rapier and the other to thrust with her own, making it so she was unable to defend herself against anything Shiro might attempt.

The third was committing the unspeakable act of using her free hand in a sword duel, which granted Shiro the right to retaliate in exactly the same way.

The will to fight did not dim in Shiro’s eyes.

With her depth-deprived vision, Yuki watched as Shiro extended her hand—until the distance between Yuki’s left eye and it plummeted to zero.

(24/48)

“—I surrender!”

The voice of Shiro’s opponent, Yuki, came through the speakers.

Shiro’s six teammates of Team 8 had their eyes glued to the screen, watching the scene unfold. Upon hearing Yuki’s surrender, the king declared the end of the duel. The two fighters plodded out of the arena. A short while later, the sound of footsteps resounded, and the door in the waiting room opened. Shiro returned in the same state as she had appeared on the screen—with a sword sticking out of her chest.

“How…how could you be so stupid?!” someone exclaimed.

You said it, thought Mido, a member of Team 8. They had decided as a team that they would concede the duel against that player—Yuki, apparently—who boasted seven consecutive wins. That was the logical conclusion after witnessing how she’d overpowered her previous opponents in mere seconds with otherworldly ease. None of them had lodged any objection, and Shiro herself had headed to the arena in agreement.

And yet the actual match had played out far differently. While it was fine and dandy their team had won the match and that Shiro had returned alive, things could have easily gone south. Why had Shiro taken such a big risk?

“Ha-ha-ha…” Shiro gave a brief laugh amid pained breaths. “I got caught up in the heat of the moment. I was planning to bow out much earlier.”

Shiro pointed at her chest—at Yuki’s sword, stuck deep in her body.

“By the way, would it be a good idea to pull this out? It won’t be easy to lie down with this inside me…”

“…You should be fine, because of the Preservation Treatment,” replied the long-haired girl. “Removing it won’t lead to much blood loss, though I imagine it would hurt quite a bit…”

“I see. Then, if you will.”

“You want me to do it?”

“Yes, please,” Shiro said, beckoning the long-haired girl forward with her left hand.

Her nail was covered with white fluff.

(25/48)

While following the hallway wall with her hand, Yuki made her way back to the waiting room.

“Good effort,” a teammate said with gratitude.

Yuki couldn’t see who it was. They were only a voice.

“Thanks,” Yuki replied.

While relying on her memory of the room’s layout, she proceeded through the darkness, located the sofa, and sat down.

“Um, don’t tell me… Can you not see anything?” asked one of her teammates, likely concerned about Yuki’s behavior.

“Yeah,” Yuki answered honestly.

At the moment, both her eyes were shut. Her right eye couldn’t see anything to begin with, and Shiro had just stabbed her left during their duel.

Shiro’s last act of resistance—gouging Yuki’s left eye—had driven Yuki to immediately surrender. Although she could have decided to continue, her rapier had been lodged deep in Shiro’s body, Shiro had still been able to move, and more than anything, the sudden loss of all her vision had come as a great shock. At any rate, Yuki had judged that continuing the duel would not be wise.

Yuki touched her left eye through her eyelid. A jolt of pain ran through it. However, that was the extent of it. Her eye was not bleeding, and it did not feel strange. It seemed her cornea alone had been damaged—at least, as far as she could tell. Shiro had only scratched Yuki’s eye with her nail, so the injury should be shallow. With time, it ought to heal itself.

However, that didn’t change the fact that her eye was currently useless. Even when she fought through the pain to lift her left eyelid, she couldn’t see anything. There was little chance of it recovering before the end of the game.

“…………”

Yuki placed a hand on her forehead and began to think. Of course, she had anticipated something like this happening, which was why she had visited Rinrin and trained in echolocation. However, her technique was far from perfect. She didn’t think she was capable of fighting any more duels.

“…Can I count on the rest of you for the remaining matches?”

Her lack of self-confidence had spurred her to make this request. Although she had posed that as a question to her teammates, she received not one answer in response.

(26/48)

—Two months after Yuki had taken on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation.

“…So you really lost those fingers, huh?” Tamamo asked.

“Yeah,” Yuki replied. She was looking at her left hand, which currently only consisted of her thumb and pointer finger.

The two of them were inside the prosthetic craftsman’s workshop. Yuki had come for her regular inspection, but she had brought Tamamo along, figuring she could turn it into a learning opportunity. Tamamo had recoiled at the sight of Yuki’s left hand missing the appendages from her middle finger to pinkie finger.

“I messed up in my thirtieth game,” Yuki explained. “My fingers got burned nice and crisp from an electrified trap. Apparently, there was no hope of reattaching them, even with the Preservation Treatment.”

“Has that gotten in the way at all?” Tamamo asked.

“Nope. My new ones function perfectly well, no worse than normal human fingers.”

Still, while they worked exactly the same, there was no hiding their appearance. Anyone who examined her fingers up close would notice they were prosthetics. To avoid unwanted trouble, Yuki needed to keep her left hand hidden as she went about her day-to-day life. However, that was pretty much the only inconvenience she faced.

“The craftsman doesn’t just do fingers, right?”

“Of course. He can even give you an entire working prosthetic arm, and he’s able to replace both legs and even some organs, too. On the flip side, his support doesn’t extend to stuff like eyes and ears or other delicate parts. You’ll be out of luck if any of those get injured, so…”

Yuki tapped below her right eye.

“Take care not to end up like me.”

(27/48)

Shiro had a dream.

(28/48)

It was the same dream she’d had on countless occasions. The exact specifics differed every time, and while it was rooted in her real-life experiences, many details deviated from the truth. However, the core of the vision, the part that was of greatest consequence to Shiro, always remained the same.

The dream would begin with Shiro beating someone up. It was no fistfight; she would be punching someone without facing any resistance. The person differed each time: an obnoxious coworker from her part-time job, the brattiest kid from her kindergarten class, a problematic celebrity. The person Shiro had done this to in real life was the coach of her old soccer team—a nasty pig however you looked at him, the kind of guy who would be the subject of daily rants on social media and who would no doubt be killed off in a suspense drama.

In her dream, it never took long for Shiro to beat the living daylights out of her victim. Afterward, a sense of achievement would well up inside her. It was more than the joy of victory; it was moral euphoria derived from the act of vanquishing evil, plus an addictive dose of pleasure.

Now I’ll show off my virtuous deed to everyone. With that feeling in her heart, Shiro would go around triumphantly, figuring she would meet roaring praise.

However, that was never how things turned out.

Though the details varied, Shiro would receive scathing criticism from those around her and be stripped of her standing. She couldn’t understand why. He’s driven you all crazy, too. You’ve been shit-talking him nonstop behind his back. You’ve been wishing for him to die. So why the hell is everyone pretending to be all Goody Two-shoes now that I finally gave him what he deserved? Are you insane? There’s no hope for any princess who slaps away the hand of her knight in shining armor.

No one in the dream would listen to a word of Shiro’s protests, and she would lose everything. She spent the following days in a complete daze, as if all her assets had been seized, while a single phrase repeated itself over and over in her mind: This world isn’t fair. She couldn’t be bothered to do anything. The way things were going, she would end up either becoming a jobless vagabond or turning to a life of crime. Just as she was imagining this dreadful future…

“—Are you having financial troubles?”

An agent assigned to scout prospective players would approach her.

That was the point where Shiro would always wake up.

(29/48)

Shiro was lying on a sofa in the players’ waiting room.

She tried to sit up—only to wince in agony. That was when she remembered she had been injured. Returning to her original position, Shiro brought a hand to her chest. Although the rapier had already been removed with the help of her long-haired teammate, the wound remained. Touching it brought a stinging pain, as did the slightest bit of movement. Still, Shiro had escaped with her life intact.

Evidently, she had fallen asleep. While wondering how long she had been out for, she turned only her head to look at the screen. Live footage of the different arenas was being broadcast. Two duels were still in progress, while the other three had concluded. With the footage of the fights taking up most of the screen, the match table with team records was shown in a corner in a shrunken size. Shiro squinted to get a better look but was unable to make out the numbers. What round was it? How many duels had her team won? Shiro tried squinting even harder but was unable to see the current records—because someone had stepped into her line of sight.

“You awake?” a voice asked.

Shiro attempted to lift her head, but pain once again ran through her chest, causing her to groan. Whether out of pity or simply to get a better look, the other player crouched down and made eye contact with her.

An extremely gorgeous girl appeared in Shiro’s vision.

“Wha…?!”

Shiro reflexively pulled herself back, sending another wave of searing pain through her chest. And yet again, she let out a pained groan.

“What’s the matter?” the beautiful girl asked with squinted eyes.

“Wh-who are you?” Shiro asked. She didn’t remember there being such a beauty among her teammates. None of them was the least bit sharp, and she had made no effort to even commit their names to memory.

The girl untied and let down her hair, revealing her identity to be the long-haired girl who had previously doubted Shiro’s abilities.

“Wh-wha…?” Shiro stammered. “You were hiding such a gorgeous face?”

“I normally keep my face covered since it stands out, for better or for worse… I tied up my hair since it would get in the way of fighting.”

“Ha-ha… It’s a waste to be hiding your beauty. Personally, I would show it off to the world.”

“I can do what I want, and I prefer to hide it.”

“I recall you mentioning us meeting before, correct? If only you’d had your hair tied up back then, I never would have forgotten a belle like you.”

“My hair was actually up at that time, but my body was a little different…”

“…?”

“Anyway,” the long-haired girl said, clearing her throat, “aren’t you going to ask how the game is going?”

“Oh yes… How is it?”

“We’re in the middle of round sixteen.”

The long-haired girl stepped out of Shiro’s way, giving her a view of the screen.

“Our record is seven wins, eight losses. We’re neither at the bottom nor the top. Depending on the results of the final three rounds, there’s still the possibility it’s game over.”

Up until the ninth duel, the point where Shiro got injured, Team 8 had been fighting on a rotating basis, with Shiro as their main fighter. It was the same system Team 5 had adopted with Yuki, where one player fought consecutive duels before tagging out when they needed a break. Shiro recalled her personal record had stood at five wins and one loss at the end of the ninth duel, while her team’s overall record had been five wins and four losses.

Since her team now had a record of seven wins and eight losses, their number of victories had increased by two. Apparently, her teammates had managed to notch wins even after Shiro had to be pulled out of the lineup. Although they weren’t a sharp group, Shiro was relieved to see they hadn’t lost all their matches. Or could it be that this long-haired girl—who was keen, unlike her other teammates—had been responsible for both those victories? Shiro was about to ask if the girl had secured those wins, but before she could—

“Looks like it’s over,” the long-haired girl said.

Her eyes were on the screen. The remaining duels had concluded, as the live footage disappeared and the match table now took over the screen. Team 8 had apparently scored a victory, and their record changed from 7W/8L to 8W/8L. Shiro’s eyes then drifted to the record of Team 5—Yuki’s team.

Their record stood at 7W/9L.

(30/48)

Team 5 completed their sixteenth duel.

Another loss was recorded under their name.

(31/48)

Yuki had completely lost her vision. Not only was she unable to fight in duels, but she couldn’t even see the footage on the screen. As a result, she had to ask her teammates to relay the state of the game to her by word of mouth.

According to her teammates, Team 5’s current situation was the following:

From rounds ten through sixteen, their team suffered seven consecutive losses. Yuki’s teammates had each taken turns entering the arena, and every single one had returned as losers. They’re all worthless, Yuki thought. At the same time, however, she knew the outcome wasn’t entirely their faults. None of her teammates had seemed strong, and because Yuki had led their team to a flying start, they must have grown complacent. “I don’t need to win this duel.” “If I don’t win, someone else will.” Having such a mindset on the battlefield made it much easier to convince oneself to surrender. Compared to players on other teams, Yuki’s teammates were less capable of treating their duels seriously.

In any case, at the end of round sixteen, Team 5’s record stood at seven wins and nine losses, leaving them close to the bottom. At the top of the leaderboard were two teams tied with ten wins apiece. The next highest team had nine wins. There were three teams each with eight wins and seven wins, and rounding out the standings was a single team with six wins.

Teams were mostly clustered around eight wins. The probability of clearing the game with seven wins was rather low, and even eight wins would be cutting it close. Tiebreaks would be determined based on each team’s total number of surrenders, and since all seven members of Team 5 were currently alive, that meant all their losses had come in the form of surrender.

Nine wins was the ideal benchmark to survive. Yuki wanted to end the tournament on two victories at all costs.

“…Who’s going to go?” asked one member of Team 5 in the waiting room.

All the round-sixteen duels had concluded, and the team was now discussing which of them would fight the next one.

Only two rounds remained. Their opponents for rounds seventeen and eighteen would be Team 10 and Team 8, in that order. Both of those teams were also right on the boundary between life and death, which would make them formidable foes.

Team 10 currently had seven wins and nine losses. When Yuki fought against them in round eight, their record had been one win and six losses, which meant they had relentlessly clawed back after having their backs against the wall. They had followed the exact opposite trajectory as Yuki’s Team 5 and would almost certainly fight with fervor in the penultimate round as well.

And in the final round, round eighteen, Yuki’s team was up against Team 8—Shiro’s team. Since Yuki had stabbed Shiro in the chest in exchange for her left eye, Shiro would likely not be the one to fight, but the matchup could still be considered a clash of fate.

Both of the remaining matches were going to be critical. However, nobody on the team volunteered to fight. Every single one of them had declared surrender at least once. None of them were confident in being able to secure victory.

The tension in the air was palpable.

Yuki thought back to the rules explained by the king. If nobody wanted to fight, someone would be selected at random. While it was certainly possible to leave the decision up to fate, Yuki’s spirit as a player refused to let that happen.

That was why Yuki spoke up.

“Can I go?”

She heard an audible gulp from her teammates. With her eyes shut, Yuki couldn’t see the others’ faces, but she figured they had to be expressing shock and bewilderment.

“Is your eye better?” someone asked.

“Nope.” Yuki shook her head. “I’ll have to go at it blind.”

She could have lied and said her injury was unexpectedly shallow and had already healed, but she decided not to. She didn’t want to deceive her teammates.

“I’ve actually prepared for this kind of situation.” Yuki got up off the sofa. “I’ve learned how to fight without relying on sight… If you want, I can prove it by dueling one of you right here.”

Yuki grabbed her sword and listened attentively. She was anticipating all six of her teammates attacking her simultaneously, but nobody made a move.

“…Can you really win?” someone asked.

I can—would probably be the best answer to give in this situation. Yuki, too, desperately wanted to say as much. She wanted to reassure her teammates by showing that she was brimming with confidence.

However, what actually came out of her mouth were only vague words.

“…I’m going to have to.”

(32/48)

—Two and a half months after Yuki had taken on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation.

“Guh…”

Yuki’s chest slammed into something.

Since she hadn’t expected the impact, she reflexively staggered backward. However, there was apparently another object directly behind her, so after leaning against it with the weight of her whole body, both she and the object toppled over on the floor.

Yuki removed her blindfold.

She was inside her tiny studio apartment.

She looked at the object beneath her. It was a heater—a convenient tower heater that didn’t take up much space even in a studio apartment. Although it was far too early in the year to be using its intended function, it had been taken out of the closet for a certain purpose.

Next, Yuki saw that her refrigerator was in front of her. As it was sized for a single person to use, it came up to Yuki’s chest. Apparently, that was what she had bumped into. The fridge was smack-dab in the center of Yuki’s room. Of course, that was not its usual location, and it had also been repositioned for a certain purpose.

“Yuki, are you okay?” Tamamo’s voice came from behind a desk that was positioned in a corner of the apartment.

“Yeah, I’m fine…,” Yuki replied while taking a look around.

It was a familiar space where she had lived for several years.

However, the layout was different. The furniture was all out of place, as if she’d just had movers carry it in. Duct tape stretched between objects, making her room seem like a crime scene. Empty glass bottles, marbles, and other nefarious-looking objects were scattered all over the floor, ensuring Yuki would hurt her feet or fall over if she carelessly stepped on any of them. Since Tamamo had set everything up, Yuki had no idea what had been placed where.

This was a part of her training. Because the vision loss in her right eye was progressing, Yuki was practicing perceiving her surroundings through echoes. Her goal was to find and touch Tamamo, who would be hiding somewhere in the room, while maneuvering around the furniture and obstacles her protégée had set up. She would lose the exercise if she fell or knocked over a piece of furniture. Although the exact conditions for failure were not clearly defined, at the very least, Yuki’s latest attempt was unmistakably a failure.

That made her fifth such attempt of the day. She had yet to succeed even once. Her attempts to acclimate to perceiving her surroundings with echolocation were not going smoothly.

“This is hard…,” Yuki muttered.

“Do you want to keep going?” Tamamo asked.

“One more time, please.”

The training continued for quite some time, but the results were the same. In her countless attempts, Yuki succeeded only once, but it had been a complete coincidence, as it hadn’t come as the result of echolocation. The nature of her success demoralized her, so she decided to call it quits for the day.

“Sorry for making you go through all that,” Yuki said to Tamamo while rearranging the furniture.

“I don’t mind,” Tamamo replied. “…So you’re really planning to keep at it?”

Tamamo was likely referring not to the training but to Yuki’s intent to continue as a player.

“Yep,” Yuki answered. “I’ve decided to play until the day I die.”

So far, Yuki had lost three fingers on her left hand and was experiencing vision loss in her right eye. If she kept playing death games, her injuries would likely continue to multiply. Before long, she might even have to tinker with her entire body, just as her mentor had done. At the end of the road, after using every method available to her and exhausting every last ounce of her life force, would she reach ninety-nine games or die along the way? It was Yuki’s wish to meet one of those two fates.

“What about you, Tamamo?” Yuki asked.

That was when Yuki realized she had not once asked Tamamo about her reason for becoming a player. Two and a half months had passed since she had taken Tamamo under her wing, and it had been nearly four months since their first meeting, but since Yuki was not one to take interest in the personal affairs of others, she had neglected to ask.

“That reminds me, why did you become a player?” Yuki reworded her question.

“Huh…?” Tamamo stared back with a bewildered look and froze up for a short period of time, implying she didn’t have a prepackaged answer. “…I guess I’d say…because I despised myself…”

That was the response Tamamo came up with after taking plenty of time to think.

That’s the perfect way to answer, Yuki thought. A vague justification like that was truly fitting for a player. Although one would think people wouldn’t jump headfirst into the world of death games without a compelling reason to risk their lives, surprisingly, there were many who couldn’t express a clear explanation as to why. Yuki didn’t need to ask for more details to feel satisfied with Tamamo’s response. I knew she was meant to be a player—

“…By the way, can I ask something else?” Yuki asked. “It’s been on my mind the entire day…”

“What?”

“What’s with your appearance?”

A week had passed since the two of them last met, and today Tamamo looked different. She was wearing her hair down and had on a tracksuit. Her sloppy appearance was reminiscent of Yuki’s.

“I’ve been going with it recently,” Tamamo answered. “I don’t mean to brag or anything, but normally, my good looks really grab people’s attention. This is to prevent me from standing out… I referenced your appearance, Yuki.”

“…I see.”

That was a logical reason. Indeed, a girl as beautiful as Tamamo would certainly run into problems while simply going about her day-to-day life. She ran the risk of attracting unwanted attention from local pickup artists, and the very sight of her could possibly cause elementary school boys to experience a premature sexual awakening. Keeping her face hidden would likely benefit her, the people around her, and all of humanity.

(33/48)

For round seventeen, Team 8 selected Mido as their representative. After seeing her off, her teammates stared at the screen. A short while later, Mido appeared on one of the streams. Players in sword fighter costumes appeared one after another in the other arenas as well.

“…Huh?” the long-haired girl reacted.

“Something the matter?” Shiro asked.

The long-haired girl gestured at the screen without uttering a word. She pointed at the live footage from one of the arenas—where Yuki was visible.

“Oh?” Shiro remarked. “Has she healed already?”

“No… Her eyes are closed. She’s going to fight without sight.”

The Team 8 members reacted in different ways. Some simply gaped in astonishment, while others voiced their disbelief. However…

“She can do it,” the long-haired girl said. “There’s no doubt in my mind.”

Her wording seemed curious to Shiro.

“Are you acquainted with Yuki?” Shiro asked. “Is that why you knew about her right eye being her weakness?”

Before the start of round nine, the one where Team 8 was matched up against Yuki’s Team 5, the long-haired girl had imparted a piece of advice to Shiro: “Yuki’s vision is worse in her right eye. I suggest you keep circling to her right while fighting—”

The long-haired girl only offered a vague answer. “We were close for a time.”

The return of Yuki spelled bad news for Team 8. After this penultimate round, Team 8 would face Team 5 in the eighteenth and final round. Since the final duel would be the last chance to secure a top spot in the rankings and clear the game, teams would pit their strongest fighters against one another. That was the worst-possible scenario imaginable for this game.

“…If she ends up winning this duel,” the long-haired girl said, staring at the screen, “I’ll fight in the final round.”

The girl began adjusting her hair. Less than a minute later, her locks were tied into buns at the back of her head, exposing her gorgeous, otherworldly features for the world to see.

To Shiro, the girl appeared even more stunning than before. Although the structure of her face had not changed, her expression of determination imbued her with even greater beauty.

“By the way…,” Shiro couldn’t help but ask. “Who are you? What’s your name?”

“…………”

After delivering a glance that seemed to express disdain for Shiro not remembering her name, the long-haired girl replied.

“Tamamo.”

(34/48)

“—Begin!”

Even after the king signaled the start of the duel, Yuki did not step forward. She had taken an aggressive approach in her previous matches to hide her vision loss, but now that she was standing motionless in the arena with both eyes closed before her opponent, her secret was out. As such, she no longer had a reason to attack aggressively or prioritize ending the fight quickly.

That was why, in round seventeen, Yuki settled on a strategy of waiting. While waiting for her opponent to draw closer, she repeatedly made a clicking sound from inside her mouth with her tongue. In order to hear echoes, she would first need to make noise, after all. Yuki’s echolocation teacher, Rinrin, used the jingling of bells, but Yuki had decided to adopt the standard approach of clicking her tongue. Since she’d devoted an ample amount of time to practicing the technique, she was able to seamlessly transmit sound signals—setting aside the matter of actually receiving those signals.

Yuki strained her ears. She thought she could hear the sounds bouncing back, but she wasn’t too confident. All she could see were the backs of her eyelids and the darkness they brought. She was unable to convert the echoes she heard into meaningful information.

Even after she heard Rinrin explain her methods, Yuki’s echolocation skills had yet to reach a passing grade. Yuki believed that was because she was lacking an imminent sense of danger. Since she still had full vision in her left eye, there was no urgency for her to learn echolocation. Learning echolocation while being able to see had to be as difficult as learning a foreign language while at home in Japan.

So maybe this situation will—

Yuki’s train of thought was cut short by footsteps. Her opponent, a player from Team 10, was making her approach. Although she must have been surprised to see Yuki appear in the arena with both eyes closed, it seemed she had regained her composure.

Yuki readied herself. Drawing her rapier and bringing it out before her required no use of sight. She strained her ears, concentrating on her opponent’s footsteps. As she lacked the courage to reduce the distance between her and her opponent, she simply waited for the other player to inch closer. Although she continued to click her tongue, she couldn’t get a good feel for her surroundings. Guess this won’t work this time, Yuki thought. It would be asking the impossible for her to pull off a technique she couldn’t even achieve in practice. Her only hope for this duel would be to fight while relying on the sounds her foe made.

The very next moment, the footsteps shifted to the side. Yuki had predicted as much. There was no reason to attack your opponent from the front, whether or not they were blind. It was perfectly natural to want to attack from directions they would have a hard time guarding against, such as from an angle, from the side, or from behind. Yuki reoriented her body to face the source of the footsteps. Her opponent moved sideways once more, and Yuki again rotated her body. After Yuki continued to spin around for a while—

Her opponent’s presence suddenly grew larger.

“……!”

Yuki swung her rapier forward. It was an instantaneous decision, basically a desperation move. A second later, however, she sensed the unmistakable force of an impact and heard the sound of clanging metal, telling her she had succeeded in parrying her opponent’s weapon.

The joy Yuki felt lasted only a second, for her own rapier was then deflected.

With no way to know how her opponent’s blade was moving, Yuki retreated backward while flailing her weapon around in a panic. Her opponent was apparently giving chase, as the clanging of their swords continued to reverberate. Yuki could picture the ungraceful sight of herself being captured by the arena cameras and transmitted to the many viewing screens, but regardless of how uncool she looked, she was managing to put up the bare minimum of a fight, without getting stabbed or killed.

As Yuki continued her performance, the fire in her brain rapidly intensified due to a wave of many negative emotions, including anxiety, fear, confusion, and a sense of crisis. It was a sensation she had long forgotten despite living in the world of death games—the feeling of being on the brink of death. Things were bad. Dying was certainly possible. In an attempt to not be overwhelmed by those emotions, Yuki clicked her tongue increasingly faster and louder.

This won’t work. Defending won’t be enough. Team 10’s record is seven wins and nine losses. There’s little chance of my opponent surrendering. The only way forward is to stab my opponent to death. That’s why this won’t work. I have to go for it. I have to do everything I can to find an opening to counterattack!

With the same feeling of putting all her chips on the table, Yuki channeled every bit of her energy and attention into listening.

And then—

(35/48)

—Nearly four months after Yuki had taken on Tamamo as a protégée, the two of them had the following conversation.

“From this point on, use your abilities to find your own way forward and survive on as long as you can.”

Tamamo listened as Yuki terminated their mentor-protégée relationship. She was unable to respond and instead simply stood there, perfectly still. Her heart was in a state of deep turmoil and showed no signs of settling down.

“Farewell.”

Before Tamamo could sort out her feelings, Yuki bid her good-bye and left, conveying she had said everything she needed to and that the rest could be inferred.

Even after Yuki walked away, Tamamo continued to stand there by herself. Eventually, a squeezing pain assaulted her stomach, and a single thought set a fire inside her brain.

She knows about my shameful disposition.

(36/48)

Round seventeen came to a close.

Team 8’s fighter, Mido, lost—not by surrender but through death. Knowing her team would be up against Yuki in the final round, she had overextended in an attempt to score a victory and had unfortunately fallen short. Team 8’s record remained at a precarious eight wins.

However, this did not bother Tamamo one bit. She was fired up, because Team 5—because Yuki—had won her duel. Although Yuki had begun the match somewhat clumsily, after a certain point, her demeanor changed at the flip of a switch. All of a sudden, she started acting like someone with perfect vision—no, her behavior went even beyond that. It was like she had learned how to use echolocation.

She’s extraordinary, Tamamo thought. Still, I have to win.

(37/48)

Yuki left the arena while continuing to click her tongue. She walked down the hallway to the waiting room. Unlike after round nine, she didn’t follow the wall with her hand this time. She had no need to do so.

Everything was clear to her. Yuki could see it all.

It was a strange feeling, similar to the sensation of trying to picture one’s old elementary school, of blindly rummaging around one’s bag, of reaching for a cola on the table while staring at the TV. That sort of “indirect vision” anyone could experience in day-to-day situations had expanded to encompass the entirety of Yuki’s surroundings.

Although her newfound perception was not as accurate as directly seeing things, it beat fighting with half her vision and had allowed her to win the duel effortlessly. Her opponent must have dropped her guard after seeing Yuki with her eyes closed, giving Yuki an opening to counter. She didn’t need to hear the king declare the end of the duel to know she had struck a vital point.

Yuki returned to the waiting room, holding back her giddiness at having gained a new field of vision. Her teammates showered her with appreciation and explained the current state of the game. Teams with nine or ten wins were already guaranteed to clear the game, so their matches in round eighteen would automatically be recorded as surrenders. However, Team 5’s final opponent, Team 8, had only eight wins, which meant they would have to snatch victory with their own hands. Nine wins were required to ensure survival.

It was a lot of information to take in, but it boiled down to one crucial point: Yuki had to win her final duel. To be precise, her team apparently still had a chance to clear the game if they boosted their tiebreak score by losing the final duel via death rather than surrender, but since Yuki would be the one fighting, that fact was irrelevant to her. Her only path to survival would be ending the tournament with a win.

After only a moment’s rest, Yuki turned around and headed back to the arena.

(38/48)

Tamamo made her way to the arena.

She would soon be facing the final duel—one she couldn’t afford to lose. Her teammates all agreed to have her represent the team, since no one else was confident in their abilities, Tamamo was unharmed from her previous duels, and she had a winning record.

Tamamo was glad to be fighting, not only because of her personal attachment to Yuki, but also because she believed she was the only one on her team who could defeat her mentor. Yuki had been born anew. No ordinary player could stand a chance against her, not even Shiro at her peak. In fact, Tamamo herself was nowhere near Yuki in terms of skill. However, Tamamo had been the girl’s protégée. She had learned Yuki’s ways of thinking and techniques and practiced with her across dozens of training sessions. Tamamo knew Yuki like the back of her hand.

I know I can do this.

I’ll show her who I really am.

(39/48)

Tamamo despised herself.

She couldn’t recall when exactly she started hating herself, but she didn’t think she had always felt that way. Perhaps it had been a result of her piano teacher in elementary school bullying her to no end, or maybe her failure to build relationships in middle school had left a lasting mark. She neither remembered nor wished to think back on it. Regardless, once she became cognizant of her feelings, it was like it had always been that way. Even though there was nothing particularly unpleasant about her life, she felt endlessly repulsed by her own state of being. It was part of her nature, beyond help.

As Tamamo grew up, her feelings of self-loathing turned into more than a simple mental issue. The world was rather strange, in that people who loved themselves would be blessed with favorable circumstances, while those who didn’t were led down paths that were very much unfavorable. Before she could make sense of things, Tamamo found herself in the world of players, heading down a road of self-destruction. She signed up for Halloween Night, a competition where the living and dead intersected. Even in that game, Tamamo continued to stumble. She was chased by a band of players—including Shiro—and right as she was about to finally plunge into the valley of death—

A twist of fate led her to cross paths with a phantom-like player named Yuki.

After Yuki rescued her from her predicament, Tamamo became enamored with her. Tamamo’s instincts told her the girl was exactly the one she had been looking for.

On instinct, Tamamo asked Yuki to take her on as a protégée. Her agent had told her how those relationships were common in the world of death games. Naturally, Tamamo’s sudden request was met with refusal, but she persisted. She sensed it was her last chance. If she let the moment slip through her fingers, she would never again get the opportunity to transform her life—

Although Yuki ended up fleeing, Tamamo had succeeded in getting the girl to agree to the arrangement. Yuki likely had no intention of taking Tamamo on as a protégée, but Tamamo managed to locate her and force her to make good on her promise.

Tamamo’s instincts proved correct, and her protégée life under Yuki was filled with bliss. Every time Yuki taught her something, she would feel another part of herself being scraped off. The thoughts, behaviors, and skills of the person she looked up to were overwriting her very existence. The more of her loathsome self was wiped away, the easier it became for her to bear the world’s pain and suffering. Everything was going exactly as Tamamo had hoped. At this rate, she would be able to completely erase herself from the world.

Alas, it seemed her mentor had caught on to her shameful disposition, as Yuki announced the end of their relationship without warning.

Tamamo couldn’t quite recall how she had reacted in the moment. Had dragged herself away in a bewildered stupor? Or she had broken down in tears? Perhaps she had even drowned her sorrows with alcohol despite being a minor. The gap in her memory was just that profound.

The one thing she acutely remembered was the anguish. It was as if she had been thrown out into a cold, empty world. While growing more and more numb, Tamamo spent several days rebuilding her heart, using the final words Yuki had left her as the foundation for doing so.

“I need to go beyond what my mentor taught me and find my own unique style—that’s my assessment.”

“Tamamo, I want you to do the same.”

For the next two months, Tamamo drifted through life as if wandering through darkness. She continued to participate in games and accumulate experience as a player, all the while living as her true self.

And now Tamamo had the opportunity to cross paths with Yuki once again.

It was time for her disposition to be judged anew.

(40/48)

When Tamamo arrived in the arena, Yuki was already present. The girl’s eyes were shut, and she was standing perfectly still. She appeared as silent as a sage, as dignified as a professional, as mysterious as a phantom, and as present as a mother. That was the aura she gave off. She even seemed somewhat majestic.

Tamamo had been watching Yuki throughout the tournament via the live footage on the screen, but seeing her in person was radically different. Tamamo couldn’t believe she had actually lived with such a person. There was no doubt—this was her former mentor.

Yuki was not clicking her tongue, which meant she wasn’t hearing any echoes. However, she appeared to have detected Tamamo’s presence from her footsteps, as her aura suddenly intensified, and she drew her rapier.

Tamamo also drew her sword, a plan forming in her mind at the sight of her mentor.

The air grew cold. The two of them stood there facing each other for some time, quiet and motionless, when finally…

“Begin!”

The king on the screen announced the start of the duel, just like in all the other rounds.

Yuki had adopted an aggressive strategy up until round nine, while in round seventeen, she had gone with a patient approach. In this last duel, however, she settled on a different opening maneuver. With the utmost care, she inched her way forward. Tamamo mirrored Yuki, closing the distance between her and her mentor.

As Tamamo quieted her breathing, Yuki inched closer and closer while clicking her tongue. When the two of them got close enough, they both brought forth their rapiers, which gently came in contact with one another close to the tips, as if kissing.

The sound of swords scraping against each other filled the air. Both fighters closely observed their opponent. They shuffled their feet left and right but never forward, maintaining a distance where their blades could just barely touch.

And so the final duel kicked off with a calm start. Although that was partially because it was the final duel, this also happened to be Tamamo’s fighting style. While clearing many games, it had become perfectly clear to Tamamo her tenacity was her biggest weapon. She would take and take her opponent’s attacks, waiting for the moment to counter as soon as their strikes started to get sloppy. Although her style may not have been as graceful as Yuki’s or Shiro’s, it was a winning strategy that had allowed her to survive to this day, and she once again decided to make use of it.

Even if her opponent couldn’t see—even if her opponent was Yuki—Tamamo refused to let down her guard.

(41/48)

She’s awfully cautious.

That was Yuki’s impression of her opponent.

Her foe was careful. They sent no attacks Yuki’s way. Yuki attempted to step forward, only for her opponent to retreat the same distance. Her opponent was refusing to get close enough for them to attack each other. Was she taking a cautious approach because it was the final duel? Or had she seen Yuki fighting in the previous round and decided it would be better to spend time observing?

Whatever the case, Yuki wasn’t pleased with the situation. She wanted to avoid a drawn-out fight. Although she could now use echolocation to perceive her surroundings with relative accuracy, she had only just acquired this skill. There were still plenty of gaps in her ability, and these would become more apparent the longer her opponent observed her. Since Yuki had always preferred taking a more aggressive course of action, she decided to make the first move.

She took a big step forward, lunging with her sword.

Her opponent backed away, so Yuki’s first attack didn’t quite reach, but she took another step forward to follow up with a second lunge. Although Yuki was within blade’s reach, her opponent evaded her thrust. Yuki closed the distance even farther and went for a third attack, but this time, her opponent parried her rapier. That did not stop her from advancing farther and hoping the fourth time would be the charm, but because she had been attacking in rapid succession, she was unable to put her entire weight into her lunge and only managed to poke through her opponent’s clothes.

Yuki sensed her opponent’s presence get farther and farther away. The other player had successfully held off Yuki’s flurry of stabs.

Her defenses are solid, Yuki thought. Out of all the players she had fought over the course of the tournament, her current opponent was by far the most skilled. And her foe hadn’t made a single attempt to counterattack, despite Yuki being in striking distance and having run out of steam. Whoever this girl was, she was a prodigious defender. Even if Yuki had possessed perfect vision, breaking through would have been no easy task.

What was she to do?

The sound of clicking and footsteps echoed throughout the arena for thirty or forty seconds.

Yuki judged she would have no choice but to take on some risk.

And so she lowered her rapier.

With closed eyes and her sword by her side—a form unthinkable for a duelist—Yuki walked toward her opponent.

In essence, her strategy was to provoke an attack. She would approach her opponent in a vulnerable state, inciting the girl into making the first thrust. Yuki would either dodge or ensure she got hit somewhere inconsequential, before landing a counter. That was the long and short of her plan.

Thanks to the Preservation Treatment, players would have the opportunity to heal most of their injuries at the end of the game. As long as Yuki avoided taking fatal wound, there was no issue with being stabbed. Lose a battle to win the war. Yuki could also repeat what she had done against Shiro and defend by grabbing her opponent’s sword. While that would be difficult without her eyesight, it would not be a bad idea to try anything she could.

I’ll let you strike first. Come at me.

(42/48)

Upon seeing Yuki inch closer, Tamamo narrowed her eyes. It was clear what Yuki was trying to do: provoke an attack by deliberately letting her guard down before countering. Tamamo’s inaction had driven Yuki to change tacks.

Even in her current condition, Yuki would be more than capable of holding her own in a swordfight, as her ability to detect the malice of others was exceptional. She could easily predict Tamamo’s actions a second ahead of time and use that information to either dodge or, like she had done during round nine, grab her opponent’s rapier.

As a temporary countermeasure, Tamamo decided to step backward. She maintained a fixed distance from Yuki and racked her brain for a more solid strategy. Her best choice would be to refuse to engage. Just because her opponent had left herself vulnerable did not mean Tamamo had to attack. She also had the option to continue retreating and keep her distance from Yuki. Since the arena was limited in size, Tamamo would have to back away while following a slightly curved path, but that was all she would need to do to refuse the invitation to strike.

Frankly, Tamamo wanted to observe a little more and see just how much Yuki could perceive with echolocation before making the decision of whether to attack. However, if she stalled for too long, Yuki might realize her identity—

“…………”

Fine, Tamamo thought. I’ll do what you’re asking and strike.

However, Tamamo had no intention of letting Yuki get everything she wanted. It was time to play her trump card. She stopped retreating.

Yuki continued walking, which naturally reduced the distance between the two of them. Tamamo wet the inside of her mouth with her tongue and waited for the right moment, the perfect distance where her attack would land yet she would not be too close. At the instant when Yuki finished taking a step, when both the sound of her clicking and her footsteps vanished—

Tamamo spoke up, raising her voice to make sure she would be heard.

“Long time no see, Yuki.”

(43/48)

The next moment—

Yuki’s eyes shot open, a dumbfounded expression coming to her face. Both her long-injured right eye and her newly wounded left eye were pointed squarely in Tamamo’s direction. However, neither of them could possibly perceive Tamamo. Exactly—Yuki was without vision. She hadn’t realized that she had been fighting someone she knew. Echolocation could not tell her how a person looked. She would never have realized who she was up against without Tamamo speaking up as she had.

Of course, Tamamo knew Yuki was not the kind of person to show mercy when fighting a former protégée. That was why Tamamo had left this ace up her sleeve until the perfect moment. Just because Yuki wouldn’t show mercy did not mean she would be without reaction. The revelation would naturally come as a shock, and Yuki would be forced to drop her guard.

To Tamamo, that brief opening was worth its weight in gold.

Before the moment passed, Tamamo thrust her rapier into the right side of Yuki’s chest and pulled it back out.

(44/48)

“Guh…?!”

As her nerves transmitted pain signals, Yuki thrust out her arm—but felt nothing but air. It wasn’t that her attack had missed; her rapier had fallen out of her right hand. The pain in her chest had deprived her of her grip strength, a fact that took some time to process. By the time regret caught up with her, the sword clattered against the ground.

Yuki quickly bent down to pick it up, but as she attempted to, she took a kick to the head. Of course, it had come from her opponent. Yuki somersaulted backward, falling over onto the ground. Not only had she failed to pick up her sword, she’d ended up farther away from it. Sensing the situation was dire, Yuki swiftly sat up and clicked her tongue.

The echoes revealed the position of her opponent—of Tamamo. The girl was far enough away to be out of blade’s reach. Yuki also sensed Tamamo had two swords, one in each hand, suggesting that she had snatched up Yuki’s weapon.

Yuki had messed up. She had reacted too slowly. She never expected to reunite with Tamamo in this game. It had taken her too long to assess the situation, and she had failed to evade Tamamo’s attack. Although she had thankfully avoided sustaining a fatal wound, she had lost her sword. Embarrassingly enough, she had been caught completely unawares. She had been overly focused on making up for her impairment and only anticipated facing vision-related issues during the duel.

As Yuki stayed still, mired in confusion, footsteps echoed throughout the arena.

Tamamo was approaching. Yuki leaped to her feet and fled.

As she ran, her mind remained in full operation. Goddamnit. What do I do? I have no sight and no weapon. I’m not in peak physical condition, either. This arena isn’t large; I can’t run or hide anywhere, and even if that was possible, it wouldn’t accomplish anything. I have to win this duel. Killing Tamamo is the only way I can survive.

I have to go for it, circumstances be damned.

Yuki turned around and faced Tamamo’s direction.

I‘m all banged up, but I’ve got to make a move. I need to block Tamamo’s swords, steal them, and counterattack. Tamamo may be a solid defender, but her offensive capabilities were always lacking. Considering how carefully she’s been moving, that must still be a sticking point for her. I can do it. No—I have to.

Tamamo loomed closer. As did the threat of her attack.

That moment, incidents buried deep in Yuki’s brain were dragged to the surface. Nostalgic memories of the dozens of mock swordfights she’d had with Tamamo.

Yuki recalled how Tamamo would likely thrust her sword—

—and stuck out her hands in the path of that imagined trajectory.

(45/48)

The moment she lunged forward, incidents buried deep in Tamamo’s brain were dragged to the surface. Nostalgic memories of the mock swordfights she’d had with Yuki. Tamamo had never won a single one of their matches, even after dozens of attempts. No matter the angle or the form of Tamamo’s swings, Yuki would always see through her attacks like an all-seeing god and land a counterattack afterward.

Yuki had said she could somehow predict Tamamo’s actions. In which case, the same would likely apply in their current duel.

Even if she can’t see me, she can read my movements. Which means she’s bound to block my attack, Tamamo thought as time seemed to slow to a crawl. She didn’t have to command her body to move. Instead, all of a sudden, she felt a weight pressing on her back as if an elephant had stepped on her, causing her to instinctively crouch down close to the ground. That was the work of Tamamo’s subconscious, which had been tailor-built to suit a player’s needs. Similarly, Tamamo lunged forward as naturally as if being pulled by the swords in her hands, which were now aimed lower than they had been a second earlier.

Moments later, the outcome of that series of actions was revealed to both Tamamo and Yuki.

Yuki blocked the rapier in Tamamo’s left hand. It plunged through Yuki’s palm, which she had raised in an attempt to shield the attack, and the tip of the weapon lodged itself into Yuki’s left shoulder. However, that was far from a fatal blow.

The rapier in Tamamo’s right hand, however, connected cleanly. Although Yuki had grabbed the sword with her right hand, she evidently lacked the grip strength to fully stop it, as the blade went into Yuki’s stomach and jutted out her back.

Tamamo saw both of Yuki’s legs wobble. However, she did not think for a moment she had won.

For beneath her disheveled bangs, Yuki had curled her lips into a smile.

(46/48)

I screwed up, Yuki thought.

Although she hadn’t expected to escape the duel unscathed, she had still made a grave mistake. A stab wound of this level would likely never fully heal. It was possible Yuki would have to modify the insides of her body, just like her mentor and Essay. The more pressing issue at present was she had taken severe damage. She couldn’t form a proper fist with either hand, much less contract the muscles in her stomach. Her body was truly in dire straits.

However—she was alive.

Yuki smiled to herself.

She tugged on the two swords that had entered her body, which consequently brought Tamamo in closer. At the same time, Yuki leaned her head back, then slammed it forward, landing a powerful head-butt. She could tell Tamamo had winced. Yuki used the opening to land another head-butt. As soon as she landed a third, Tamamo loosened her grip in both hands and let go of the blades, which Yuki tossed far behind her. Then Yuki tackled Tamamo and pushed her to the ground.

That was the point where Tamamo started counterattacking.

Yuki felt a sharp pain in her right cheek, likely caused by a backhand slap. However, Yuki did not flinch and hit back at Tamamo. Since she couldn’t use her fists anymore, she struck with her wrist bones.

What happened next was exactly what everyone watching the footage of the duel must have been predicting: The two of them traded blow after blow. It was a kind of fight entirely unbecoming of swordswomen, lacking any and all grace. As their slugfest continued, Yuki felt a burst of confidence. The time had finally come. She had managed to reach this stage. Now she had no idea where the hand of fate was pointing. Yuki had an advantage by being on top of Tamamo. As if to gloat about her assured victory, Yuki raised her right hand high into the air…

…only for it to suddenly grow heavy.

Must be my injuries, Yuki thought. That makes sense. Tamamo stabbed me in multiple spots, so one of the wounds must’ve messed up the nerves leading to my right arm—

No, that’s not it, she realized. I can’t make a fist, but my nerves are fine. It’s just that my hand feels heavy.

Not for a physical reason—but a mental one.

Exactly. Just think about it. It’s obvious. Who are you fighting against? Don’t say you’ve forgotten. It’s Tamamo. Your former protégée. You’ve been beating her up and trying to kill her. How could you not feel anything?

You’ve grown attached to her.

You don’t want to kill her.

You don’t want her to die.

(47/48)

Yuki thought back to two months earlier, when she bid farewell to Tamamo. Yuki clearly remembered she’d tried to justify her decision by saying she needed to focus on herself and Tamamo wouldn’t benefit if they continued their relationship. She had probably succeeded in convincing Tamamo—and even succeeded in deceiving herself on the surface. However, deep down, Yuki knew the truth. She knew what she was afraid of. She knew what truly mattered to her.

Yuki was afraid of having Tamamo die on her, of having Tamamo die within her reach.

As she had mentioned to Hakushi some time ago, Yuki felt a sense of responsibility. If Tamamo died in a game, Yuki would bear some of the blame as her mentor. She couldn’t stand the thought of that. She didn’t want Tamamo to get killed. If Tamamo was bound to lose her life, then Yuki would want the girl to disappear somewhere before then. To die in a place far out of sight. To die in a way that would minimally impact Yuki’s mental health. Even though she had never voiced those desires, she couldn’t deny having those thoughts.

The words of her mentor from long ago echoed in her mind.

“Make an earnest effort to build a connection with another person. It’ll do an individualistic player like you some good.”

As it turned out, Yuki had been unable to follow Hakushi’s advice. She had failed to be earnest enough. She had failed to take care of Tamamo until the very end. She had chickened out halfway through, giving in to temptation and running away from her troubles. Not only that, she had even covered it up with a convenient excuse.

Perhaps this terrible situation was a direct result of her shameful disposition.

The pain of a kick to the stomach pulled Yuki back to reality.

Shoot, Yuki thought. In her current state of mind, she wouldn’t even be able to win an unlosable fight. Guarding against Tamamo’s attacks, Yuki calmed her heart and attempted to focus on the duel.

Yet her chilly heart instantly began to warm again. Goddamn it, she cursed at herself. What’s with you getting all earnest all of a sudden? You do what you have to do. Isn’t that what defines you as a person? What happened to your usual rules? Aren’t they supposed to give you strength? If you even lose sight of yourself as a player, then your life is pointless. You get that, right? So hurry up and get to it!

Yuki felt like she was being ripped into two halves, just as anyone would feel when being forced to do something they didn’t want to. But it was far more intense than any time she had felt the same in the past. Her mind slowed to a crawl, as if gelatin had been injected into every single one of her brain cells. She could no longer generate a coherent thought, as if she had taken a step into madness.

However, that proved helpful in her current situation.

Once again, Yuki rammed into Tamamo with her head, which had now become nothing more than a blunt object full of matter. She let her hands freely beat Tamamo senseless. At this point, she was no longer clicking her tongue. Instead, she relied solely on what she sensed in the air and what she felt with her hands. That was sufficient. Since she was wounded everywhere, her punches lacked finesse. An onlooker would probably liken her to an angry chimpanzee or a baby throwing a tantrum. Still, Yuki did not think she was being ungraceful, for at the moment, she didn’t have the reasoning ability to even reach such a complicated conclusion.

Tamamo made no attempts to counter. Perhaps Yuki’s first head-butt or one of her subsequent attacks had knocked the girl out. As such, the only pain Yuki felt came from the wounds on her body stinging every time she threw a punch. Gradually, she lost the ability to tell if she was hitting her opponent or hitting herself. She felt no difference in the two. Phrases without a clear subject raced through her brain, which had recovered some of its functionality. Die. Go away. You’re the most worthless person on the planet. Don’t ever try to engage with another person ever again. Die. Just die!

When her brain tired of hurling abuse, Yuki could no longer sense Tamamo’s presence.

Yuki huffed and puffed while on top of Tamamo’s body. She looked down in front of her. Everything was dark. Yet Yuki knew for certain Tamamo was still there. Her soul was still intact. Tamamo wasn’t dead, only unconscious. That meant what awaited Yuki was a task she had wanted to avoid.

It took less than ten seconds for her to muster her resolve.

Yuki stood up and searched around. She clicked her tongue, which had dried out from her panting. Reading the echoes, she found a sword, picked it up, and returned to her initial position. She held the sword over the chest of the unconscious girl—

And plunged it in.

And plunged it in.

And plunged it in.

And plunged it in.

Her memories of what happened after that were a blur.

(48/48)

(0/3)

Yuki awoke inside a car.

(1/3)

It took no time for her to realize this was where she was. Not only could she sense the texture of the seat, the roar of the engine, and the swaying of a vehicle, but her left eye also could see the night scenery zooming by, the front windshield separating her from the outside world, and her agent sitting in the driver’s seat. Yuki was clearly inside a car.

With her still-heavy head, Yuki gradually pieced together her current situation. Most likely, she had entered and cleared her sixty-second game. Her left eye, which had gotten injured during the game, was apparently back to normal. She also touched the spots in her chest and stomach where she had gotten stabbed, but she felt no pain. Although she couldn’t exactly tell the state of her insides, at the very least, her wounds had closed.

Upon noticing Yuki’s awakening, her agent glanced over.

“Good morning, Yuki,” she said.

“Good morning,” Yuki mumbled back.

Typically, her agent would follow up by saying “Congratulations on clearing the game,” but this time, she broke with tradition and simply kept staring at Yuki out of the corner of her eye. Since Yuki sensed something serious about that gaze, and her head was still a little cloudy, she did not respond with a casual “You should keep your eyes on the road.” Instead, she let time tick on.

Finally, her agent said, “Congratulations…on clearing your sixty-second game.”

“Thank you,” Yuki replied normally, rather than staying silent or glancing back.

Her agent closely observed Yuki before continuing. “…I am truly glad you made it out alive.”

The phrasing seemed rather solemn to Yuki.

“Sure,” Yuki said. “Is something wrong? You sound awfully dramatic.”

Did something special happen? Yuki wondered. While clearing sixty-two games was an impressive feat, it was not a milestone by any means. It was a perfectly ordinary number. Was her agent making a big deal out of it because Yuki had faced a major predicament for the first time in a while?

Yuki’s confusion was left unresolved.

“…No, forget about it,” her agent said, before shifting her gaze back to the road.

Their conversation ended there. The car continued to move. As they neared the end of the trip to Yuki’s apartment, they got stopped at the final traffic light before they could turn onto the side street from the main road.

“You can drop me off here,” Yuki said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I feel like taking in the night breeze.”

“…As you wish.”

Yuki’s agent handed her the outfit from her most recent game: the garb of a European swordfighter. There were stitches all over the costume, and the moment Yuki saw them, the same spots on her body reacted by throbbing. Although her injuries should have fully healed, for some reason, they still echoed with pain.

Yuki stepped out of the car and started walking along the evening road. Since she could only see out of one eye, she lacked depth perception, but because it was a familiar path, she was able to proceed safely without tripping over a rock or slamming into a utility pole.

In the middle of her stroll home, Yuki wondered why she had said that to her agent. Had she actually wanted to feel the night air? If so, why had she felt that way? She gave it some thought but couldn’t find a concrete answer. Her head was hazy, but it didn’t seem like it was simply because she had just woken up. It felt like some parts of her brain were frozen solid. What was going on?

With muddled feelings, Yuki arrived at her apartment.

However, she stopped in front of it—for someone was standing in the way.

(2/3)

It was a girl around high school age. She was rather tall and slim. She had on a worn-out tracksuit that must have been at least five years old. Her hair was long, and her skin was so pale it seemed like she lived without ever seeing the sun. Her lifeless face resembled a phantom’s. Besides the single hair clip adorning her bangs, her appearance was utterly plain and unrefined.

The girl had an otherworldly quality. Her aura was chilly enough that one could feel it even on a night as brisk as this. The air about her was tense, and she had no obvious weaknesses to exploit. She exuded a sense of danger, as though she would stab anyone in a vital point the moment they looked away yet would also lunge out and attack anyone who stared at her for more than a second. There was no way she was a resident of the normal world. She seemed like the kind of person who would, say, put food on the table with prize money from death games.

Am I looking in a mirror? Yuki wondered.

However, that couldn’t be right, because the girl’s appearance matched Yuki’s perfectly, down to the colors of her eyes. Her right eye was white, while her left eye was not. It was impossible for her to be a mirror reflection.

Yet the girl did not appear to be a physical entity, either. The farther right Yuki looked, the clearer the girl appeared, while the farther left Yuki looked, the hazier the girl appeared. That phenomenon ran completely counter to Yuki’s vision, as she could only see out of her left eye. The girl’s existence became clear where Yuki’s vision was unclear—and unclear where Yuki’s vision should have been clear. Yuki knew the exact word to describe what she was seeing.

A hallucination.

“—Welcome back,” the girl said.

“…Who are you?” Yuki asked.

The girl gave a scornful smile. “Can’t you tell? It’s me.”

A hallucination of myself. Yuki had no idea how to handle the situation. What the heck is going on? Why am I seeing me?

“Well, let’s head inside.” The hallucination pointed at the apartment with her thumb. “We’ll have a nice long chat about how things are going to go from here.”

(3/3)